


The Ware

by rachelladeville



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animalistic Sex, Bestiality, Bottom Dean, Claiming, Dean is below the age of consent in this, Deans got a cute little pecker, Eager Dean, Exhibitionism, M/M, Mates, Mating, Orgies, PWP, Rough Sex, Underage - Freeform, Water sports (sort of), Werewolf Castiel, Wolf Castiel, Young Dean, apocalyptic setting, porn without much plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 72,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22937785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelladeville/pseuds/rachelladeville
Summary: The first call reaches his ears over dinner. Dean pauses with a forkful of potatoes halfway to his lips. He hopes no one has seen him falter, but from across the table little Sammy's eyes lock with his. The kid misses nothing. The next howl is much closer and interrupts dessert. That time, he's ready. He doesn't flinch.After dinner, when he's said goodnight to his family and hugged his brother, Dean crawls into bed and waits for his mother to come into his room the way she always does.“Sleep tight,” she whispers to him, bending to peck the top of his head, “angels are watching over you.”"G'nite mom," he replies, snuggling down into the blankets as she leaves, closing the door behind her.She means well, he knows that. But there are no angels watching. Only monsters.After she’s gone, he lays in his bed and listens as the adults also retire for the evening and the house sinks into silence. Outside, the howling grows increasingly insistent.  Needy.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 136
Kudos: 296
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, subscribers!  
> I have never addressed you directly because I have no idea who you are by name. On archive we can see the number of subscribers we have, but not their identities. Still, I think of you guys often and I wanted to do something that was just for you. (Mostly because I'm thrilled to be on the short list of people that you don't mind getting email alerts from.)  
> In gratitude for your support, your comments, your kudos, etc, I'm adding this little story to archive and I'm not 'advertising' it. The only people who will know it's here are the ones who subscribe to me (and the ones who stumble across it by accident, I guess). This is the only way I can think of to give you guys a little something extra.  
> That being said, this story is a bit of a departure from my normal stuff so PLEASE CHECK THE TAGS. And, speaking of tags, can anyone even begin to understand the level of shame I was feeling when I added the bestiality tag? Ugh.  
> The truth is, I'm quite depraved. I write an awful lot of stuff that I never post, simply because it's just too filthy to ever see the light of day. But in this case, since I'm just posting with a small group in mind, I figure I can probably be a little raunchier than usual.  
> I should also mention that this story has no beta. I didn't have the heart (guts) to ask Destiella to look it over for me. So, there will likely be far more mistakes than usual.  
> I hope you like the story, but even if you don't, please don't leave me (unsubscribe). I promise I'm not going to flood your inbox with a bunch of bestiality porn. This is a one-time thing.  
> Hugs to you all, and happy Friday!

The hour is growing late and from his place at the table with his parents, Dean darts a glance towards the tall glass doors that lead outside. Not wanting to draw any attention to his true focus, he quickly returns his gaze to the plate on the table before him.

In the waning light, candles have been lit and their flickering glow is reflected all around him. Tiny triplicates of orange flame dance teasingly in windows and doors as well as the small insets of glass that encase the china cabinet nearby.

Holding wine and water goblets, delicate plates and various trinkets, it is a hulking hutch that never gets opened anymore. Dust would likely cover the surface of everything enshrined inside it, if that were possible. The tightly latched doors prevent most contamination, especially since they are never opened anymore.

Sure, there was a time when those fancy dishes were brought out for use on special occasions. Holidays, parties, things like that. But it’s been years since any such frivolity had been part of their lives. These days, life is different. On the rare occasion when there’s something to celebrate, fancy dishes are the last thing on anyone’s mind.

For the adults, life is a rough game. For the kids, like Dean, things are better. It’s better, he supposes, because he’s got adults looking out for him at all times. At school he has his teachers and armed guards on patrol. At home he has his parents, his aunt and uncle, and their neighborhood watch. Like all other militias in this stronghold, they are well armed.

Dean’s experience might be a bit different from his friends though, since the home where he resides is located right next to the wall. The wall is impenetrable, but still, security around it is pretty tight. Gordon, the section leader, is a frequent visitor on their property. He’s required to check the wall weekly, visually inspecting it and verifying that it needs no repairs. But, the man is obsessive and stops by far more often than is strictly required.

As he’s lifting a forkful of potatoes to his mouth, Dean freezes. Prickles break out over the back of his neck where it’s exposed to the room and the tiny hairs on his arms stand to attention as a baleful howling reaches his ears. He’s not the only one who has heard it, but he’s probably the only one who knows what it means.

Shifting in his seat, he looks around the table. The adults are all pretending to pay no attention, their momentary lapse in conversation lasting only one breath. Sammy, Dean’s baby brother, isn’t fooled. He looks to Dean for reassurance and Dean gives it. A trademark wink.

“S’okay Sammy,” he placates. “Those mutts just smell your dinner. Better hurry and eat.”

“They really can smell it?” his brother asks timidly, pushing vegetables around on his plate. “Then they must be close.”

“Aw, c’mon Sammy. There’s a damn big wall between us and them. Besides, you’ve got me lookin’ out for ya. You’re safe, I promise.”

“That’s right,” the grown-ups quickly reassure. Each of them has their own unique way of pretending that things are fine, but things are not fine. The wall was effective enough in the early days… thick stone easily besting the claws of the hungry beasts left to prowl its perimeter. Lately, however, it seems to be needing more and more repairs. Additionally, the monsters that lurk beyond it have grown smarter. Stealthier. Dean would know. He’s been perched atop that wall plenty of nights, watching the creatures from which they hide, unbeknownst to the adults who pledge to keep him safe and shielded behind it.

At first he just watched in the pale light of the moon. At first. In much the same way he’d once watched wild animals in the nature shows on television, Dean had found himself observing the monsters with interest. His cool indifference had given way to intrigue with time. He’d begun to notice things… like the way the monsters moved in packs and the way their activity increased in urgency as the moon would approach its fullness. Once it waned, the activity among the beasts did too. Yes, he’s been a studious observer for quite some time now. Years, it would seem.

He’d started sneaking out shortly after he’d been moved to the bedroom on the South-East corner of the house. Back when he’d shared a room with his brother, he’d never even considered such a thing. But, once his parents had decided he was old enough to warrant having his own room, he’d changed. Without his baby brother to worry about, he’d soon begun peering out the window at night, his eyes roving the darkness in response to every sound. Not long after that, he’d begun opening his window to both hear and see better. Without the pane of glass of between him and the rest of the world, it had beckoned to him.

Every screech and howl had pulled him to the window with equal amounts of cold dread and tickling curiosity. The soft sniffs and snuffles that reached his ears had seemed unbelievably close once that window was open; right on the other side of the wall. If the wall hadn’t stood between him and the adversary, the creature would have been close enough to hit with hurled stone. The reality both frightened and excited him - there were huge hairy beasts moving around out there and he longed to get a closer look at them.

Then, one night, something had occurred to him. The backside of his house, standing not twenty feet from the wall, was within easy reach of giant oak tree. He’d always known it was there, had sat in its shade on countless summer afternoons growing up, but had never before noticed that with the aid of metal awnings and a drainpipe, he could shimmy out his window and over to the nearest branch. Moving from one bark covered limb to the next, Dean could actually hoist himself up onto the wall itself. It was thick, wide enough under his feet that he could easily walk along it or even sit down cross legged to watch the wild beasts from a safe vantage.

There were several nights each month where the moonlight was sufficient to embolden him in such escapades and in the space between his thirteenth and fourteenth birthdays, Dean had become quite comfortable with doing so. He'd been trading the safety of protected areas in favor of the thrill that came with seeing, really seeing the world that had long been sealed off by the impenetrable wall.

As it turned out, there was a lot going on out there in the dark. At first he’d been timid, keeping near to the tree even after he’d stepped out onto the top of the wall. He’d hoped the leafy branches around him would shield his form from the creatures below as he watched them. But, no. Their eyes found him, pinned him with their calculating gaze. He’d smiled in spite of all logic when he’d seen dark, wet noses lifted towards him. Their nostrils would quiver when they caught his scent on the breeze and Dean had thrilled to it. A shiver would often break over him from head to toe when he felt himself seen and scented by one of these fearful creatures that stalked the night.

Shaped much like dogs, they walked on all fours most of the time. Darting between shadows, they rarely showed themselves to him in full view, but the more he’d watched them, the better he’d come to know the shape of them and the sinuous way that they moved. Their eyes seemed to glow in the dark, pale color reflecting in the low light and giving away the direction of their gaze.

Dean is nearly sixteen now. His birthday is in January, right about the time that the worst of the winter storms blow in. Rarely do kids stay in school once they turn sixteen. Maybe in the old days they did, but not now. He, like most, will be considered old enough for manly duties with this next birthday. His days spent being taught and fed and watched by the women in his life will come to an end. The men will start taking him on hunts. After kills he’ll be taken to drink with them. Out from under the watchful eye of his mother, aunt, and the wide social circle of teachers and caregivers, he’ll do as men do. He’ll get drunk. He’ll fuck the busty women who wait on them as they eat and drink the night away. Sooner or later, he’ll be married off and then he’ll be the head of his own household. Nights out killing and drinking and fucking will continue for him, as they do for most of the men in his life. It’s not something that’s talked about – it’s just the way of things now. Society isn’t the rigid and heavily nuanced thing that it was before. For now, though, he’s still a boy. Well, that’s what his mom and dad think, anyway.

If they knew the things he’d gotten up to in the last few months, they’d be stunned. Hell, he’s stunned enough for all of them. Even Dean can’t believe the things he’s done. Or, well, the things he’s let be done to him. Just allowing the slightest errant thought in that direction finds him shifting in his seat, his traitorous boy-sized pecker filling between his legs to tighten his pants at the groin. Softly, from outside, another howl intrudes on their dinner and Dean willfully focuses on keeping his disobedient cock from growing fully erect in response. He knows that particular call and if he had the appropriate vocal capabilities, he’d answer it in kind. Sadly, he can’t answer. He’s the wrong species for that. He just has to sit here and choke down his dinner, pretend that he’s a normal kid and be sent off to bed after. That’s all he can do. So he does it.

Once he’s said his goodnights to the family and hugged his brother, Dean lays in bed and waits for his mother to come into his room. She always does.

“Sleep tight,” she whispers to him, bending to peck the top of his head, “angels are watching over you.”

There are no angels watching. Only monsters. After she’s gone, he lays in his bed and listens as the house around him grows quiet and the howling from the other side of the wall grows increasingly insistent. Needy.

The weight of his blankets doesn’t keep him from swelling beneath them as he ponders what is coming. Glancing down the bed, he smiles at the tent pole that his dick has created and he remembers with startling clarity the night he’d first ventured beyond the wall. Walking it’s perimeter under a full moon, he’d moved along the back of his lot until he’d come to what he’d initially perceived as a better vantage from which to observe. However, the striking silhouette of one particular creature had caught his attention.

Its eyes, sky blue and strangely magnetic, had called to him from the darkness and Dean had soon found himself inexplicably scaling down the outside of the wall. Using tuck-points between stones was easier on the wild side of the wall where no one was routinely inspecting for needed repairs. His fingers clutched easily into the gaps left behind by crumbling mortar while the toes of his sneakers had searched blindly along the weather beaten stones to find any suitable perch as he made his way down. He’d actually fallen the last six feet or so, but with adrenaline pumping through his veins, he’d shot nimbly back to his feet without feeling a lick of pain. After his split second decision to venture down, Dean hadn’t really had time to second guess himself, the climb itself requiring all of his attention.

However, once he looked around from outside of the wall’s protection, he’d been quite surprised to find that he’d actually done it. Being out in the open had been exciting. Thrilling. But it had also been terrifying. Surrounded by tall, un-kept grass and brambles Dean had looked around with keen eyes. A fool’s errand this had been, for sure, but how could he not? He’d always been investigative.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” his baby brother would often tease him.

In defense, Dean would usually reply with, “Yeah. But satisfaction brought it back.”

Truer words had probably never been spoken. Whether it had been curiosity or some other pull that he’d responded to that first night when he’d ventured out, no one could argue that he’d been anything but satisfied upon his return. The hulking canine form that had watched him climb down had lingered when he’d approached slowly, tentatively, and it had kept those haunting eyes leveled on him as it turned its nose in his direction and deeply inhaled his scent on the intermittent breeze of a sticky night in the middle of June.

Back then, Dean hadn’t even realized that he’d begun sweating until he’d seen the monstrous animal notice the smell. With his pulse roaring in his ears, Dean had set his mind on reaching out to the creature. Yes, it was a monster. But for some inexplicable reason, the known danger hadn’t kept him from holding out his hand – stepping closer.

The ‘wares’ as they were called, were named after the werewolves of folklore. But, aside from their wolfish appearance, they bore no real resemblance to the creatures in dark fairy tales. They didn’t seem to mind silver as the stories would have suggested, and they didn’t turn civilians into monsters with their bite.

They did, however, as Dean had soon come to see, occasionally stand on their hind legs. When they did this, they were far taller than a man. With the mass of a lumbering bear, they were surprisingly agile, sometimes taking several steps in that elevated posture before making a stunning leap.

He’d not even had time to turn, let alone run, when the two legged stance of one jet-black ‘ware’ had morphed into a flying leap. One moment he was admiring the strength and agility of it and the next he was belatedly realizing that it was coming straight at him.

Having reflexively raised his forearm to shield his face, Dean had felt himself being bowled over. With one swift movement the animal had sprung on him, toppled him into the tall weeds, and pinned him on his back. An involuntary grunt had escaped him as his body absorbed the impact and another had followed a second later when all the weight of a massive animal had come down on top of him. 

There was thick fur in his face and Dean felt paws, claws scrambling for purchase as his own limbs flailed. But deep down, in that moment, Dean had known that there was nothing he could do. He’d never felt so powerless in all his life. He may have had a knife in his pocket, but once he'd actually been pinned under a monster, he quickly realized how futile the weapon really was. The thing was probably too dull to even penetrate the hide of such a formidable creature. Even as a chorus of _holy fuck, what the hell was I thinking_ began playing through his mind, Dean was already looking up into the face of his attacker and registering that it didn’t intend to kill him.

The eyes had been all wrong for that. They didn’t appear murderous at all. Trying to control his own heavy breathing, Dean had peered upward to look more closely. As he had stilled, so had the creature weighing him down. Yes, the thing had been shaped like a dog. But up close, he could see that the jowls were far wider and more powerful than any he'd ever seen before and when its mouth opened, razor sharp teeth shone bright white in the moonlight. A dribble of clear drool slipped from one side of that open mouth, but Dean hadn't watched it fall. Instead, he had looked past the snarling mouth of his adversary to search the magnetic eyes he’d been watching so keenly from a distance.

When their gaze had met, he was surprised by how very blue the creature’s eyes actually were. Bright like cobalt they had raked over Deans features and there was only one word that could’ve described the expression on the monsters face in that moment. Hungry.

Instinctively, Dean had known that he was witnessing a different kind of hunger. This wasn’t the face of a monster being tempted to sink its teeth into his jugular. No, this particular hunger made Dean’s mouth water and for some inexplicable reason he'd suddenly become very aware of his own dick. As if he’d caught some new scent that intrigued him, the big black wolf had tipped his head downward to inhale deeply.

Dean had been frozen there, on his back, with his eyes locked in wonder on the beast above him. It’s huge head had been cut against a backdrop of inky black sky for just a moment and then it had dipped down, pressed its nose into Deans hair and snuffled. He'd held his breath as the creature bent to sniff at him again and then buried its nose into the crook of his neck.

Moving lower, the thing seemed to be tracing the shape of his upper torso with its wet nose. The whole scene is just a blur in his memory now, so he didn't remember exactly how it had happened at the time. But, somehow the hairy beast had managed to flip him over using nothing but a snout and paws. The moment he'd been put on his belly, Dean had felt a wet nose pushing up under his shirt. It had sniffed up along the small of his back even as it had begun to paw at his pajama bottoms.

Suddenly fearful again, Dean had begun to scramble. A flurry of activity, he struggled to get his palms under him and push up, pull his knees up under him and somehow dislodge the weight of the creature pinning him down. Not a moment later he had stilled again, freezing like a statue at the feel of teeth against his neck. Thankfully, they hadn't sunken into his flesh. But, the paws continued to tug and tear at this thin cotton bedclothes. The next sound he'd heard was ripping cloth.

Claws had torn easily through his soft sleep pants and even though he’d thought for split second that he might get away, Dean had suddenly realized that he didn’t actually want to. He’d gone still after that, the weight of the hulking animal suspended eerily above him and its body heat enveloping him even as its wet nosed returned to trailing his skin. As if craving the scent of him, it inhaled deeply and then, to Dean’s utter shock, it stood over his back and let out a long howl. A nearby movement had then caught Dean's eye and he’d picked his head up to look around. Several sets of eyes had suddenly become visible to him in the encroaching darkness. Amid the shifting grasses, he had seen the forms of other wares lurking nearby, watching. It was as if they were curious about what was happening and had come to watch. Their eyes refracted the dim bluish light of the moon to Dean and he didn’t count them but their numbers seemed to grow as Dean felt a heavy paw settle on his shoulder.

Positioned as he was in that moment, literally on his hands and knees, the press of a single paw began forcing his upper body down. With his knees still under him, the result was him being folded into the shape of a tripod with his ass sticking up in the air. Oddly enough, it felt right to him. As if some dormant part of him had suddenly awakened, Deans fight-or-flight adrenaline suddenly switched over to fuel a different reflex... one he'd never known he had before. Out of nowhere Dean was blindsided by a primal urge so deep and dark that he had no name for it.

His focus had shifted back to his dick then, as though he’d forgotten he had one and then suddenly remembered. He'd been stunned to realize that he was hard. Very hard. In fact, his pounding pulse seemed to be further inflating him and he was almost too full down there. Aching and throbbing, he longed to reach down and squeeze himself to relieve the pressure but he dared not move. The dog had returned its muzzle to the crook of Dean’s neck. It whuffed softly, exhaling on his ear. To Dean, it felt like commiseration. The sound was almost sympathetic. 

Perhaps the hulking monster had known something that Dean himself had not yet come to understand… what a fucking from this beast would do to a gangly teenage boy.

Dean hadn’t called out for help. He hadn’t wanted any. He’d simply stayed still, his backside left vulnerable and his neck bent at an awkward angle. With the scent of dirt filling his nostrils, Dean had bitten into his lip and clenched his eyes shut as his cotton pajama pants had been torn to shreds and tugged free of his body. He’d tasted salt and copper when he sucked his bleeding bottom lip into his mouth and he’d focused on the flavor as he shifted on the uneven ground. Widening his knees apart to balance himself, he’d even wriggled around a bit, seeking to shake off the last few shreds of material that had obscured his ass from the heavy, furry animal crouching over him.

When a cool, wet nose had pressed to his exposed crack, Dean had been unable to suppress a groan of pleasure. In response, he’d heard a deep and menacing growl from somewhere nearby in the dark. Then, he’d nearly choked on his own saliva when a wide, rough tongue had swept over his exposed hole. Nervously quivering as it was wetted, the tight little bud of muscle had been throbbing nearly as heavily as his dick.

When the beast had lowered itself down over his back, Dean had felt the animal's fur on his exposed skin. The dichotomy had been difficult to process – the creature’s coat somehow soft and comforting and yet so foreign that it was shocking. After that he’d felt the cool, moist nose return to his neck and against his ass there was a nudge. Dean groaned aloud once more, physically unable to hold back. He’d adjusted his hips and arched his back to assist the prodding hardness in finding its place between his parted cheeks. 

Even those few small movements had been enough to sway his cock. Hanging heavily beneath him, it was so swollen that his skin was tightly stretched over its crown. Since it was suspended amidst blades of grass, they tickled at his shaft. It was as if they were dead set on reminding him of how badly he’d wanted to grab hold of it and start stroking to relieve the tension. He hadn’t reached back to do it though. Instead he had put his palms down on the hard earth and used both arms for support. He’d needed it.

From the very first push to the final grunt, the fucking had been a rough one. Painful. Animalistic. Bloody. Still, he’d never even tried to get away. He’d locked his frame and endured the powerful thrusts, tears stinging his eyes as the beasts cock had continued to swell inside him. He’d needed every ounce of his strength to hold his own as his body had been rocked forward again and again. He’d felt his rim stretched so wide that he’d thought he might actually tear wide open. Thankfully, the teeth that he’d felt on the back of his neck hadn’t ever sunk in. They’d stayed light on his skin to serve as an ever present reminder that he’d be lucky to survive this. 

Laying in his bed now, Dean remembers it all. His mouth waters as he relives the memory of his first real fucking. His poor swollen cock is stiff as a board and leaking from its tip as he thinks back to how it had felt to have that hulking animal crouched down over him.

The moment of penetration, his first, had been incredible and he shivers from head to toe thinking of it now. The beast had given only a few cursory licks to his hole before mounting him and Dean had nearly lost consciousness on that first big push. But then, as each time since, his fear of being caught in the act had kept him from screaming, either in pain or in pleasure as he was barbarically fucked.

That first time he’d sucked his bloody lip as he was fucked hard and fast. The times after that, he’d begun to focus on other things - like the hot breath and teeth at his neck or the strange bodily heave that had precluded each thrust as the creature bore down on him. Each time has been better than the last, and right now he’s damn near desperate with need for his Ware.

Taking himself in hand, he grips tightly and feverishly jerks himself off thinking of nothing but the rhythmic and rabid dog-fucking he’s about to bend over and take. It’s intensely erotic and he comes hard under the covers. Hot, sticky cum spills over the back of his hand and he breathes deeply in the aftermath. He recovers quickly. He’s fifteen, after all, and the time between boners is short - especially when the moon is nearly full and he can hear his wolfish blue-eyed beast calling to him from beyond the wall. 

Even the very first time, he’d been aware of other mutts watching as he was mounted and he’d liked it. Since then, he’s grown to love it. He now knows that his big black wolf is actually the leader of his pack and that their number watch him eagerly when he gets fucked because they’d like a turn. They continue to inch closer and closer as their alpha fucks Dean raw but they never get close enough to touch. They tip their noses upward and inhale the scent of sex, sometimes issuing low growls from deep in their chests. Dean would growl too, if he could. Instead, he just works to keep his human noises as quiet as possible. The lurking horde prick their ears forward intently each time Dean garbles to hold down a scream.

They’re his pack now. He knows he’s been claimed by them because when their leader had finished with Dean that first time, he’d stepped aside and let the other wolves come forward one at a time to pee on him. Too tired to protest, he’d lain there and let them. Nothing but a pile of limbs in the moonlight, fucked out and exhausted, he’d barely been able to lift his head as they’d approached him. After they’d finished, his own formidable beast had paced a wide circle around Dean before stepping up to his face and lifting a leg to him.

Dean, knowing deep down that he was territory being claimed, had closed his eyes to accept it. For the other wolves he’d tolerated the action. But for the wolf who’d mounted him, he’d embraced it. Dean hadn’t even noticed his mouth falling open in ecstasy until he’d felt hot liquid spraying into it. Dropping his chin so that his head was in a more humble and accepting position, Dean had then swallowed a small taste of the stuff. Honestly, it wasn’t that bad.

Dean had no idea how long he had lain there afterward, but he’d still been rock-hard between his legs for quite some time. Despite having not actually climaxed, Dean had never felt so satisfied in all his life. Ravaged and useless, he’d drifted off under the wide and starry sky, just soaking up the sallow moonlight and letting waves of gentle satisfaction roll over him. Eventually his shaft had softened and gone limp. The Ware had lingered nearby, as had the others, staying with him until he finally found the strength to rise.

Then, as his new pack had scuttled away into the night, Dean had abandoned the tattered bits and pieces of his clothes. Because he’d never actually come, his balls had been heavy and aching, filled with unspent jizz. The dark creature who had fucked and claimed him had then bade at the moon once more while circling Dean. The deep timbre of the sound had sunken into his bones and now, when Dean hears his Ware, he can distinguish its voice from all the others. 

Upon returning to the wall, he had found the return climb to be quite challenging. He’d scaled it so easily before, but after all that had happened his body wasn’t in good shape. He managed it, though, the pack staying nearby until he was safely back on his own side of the wall. 

The fear of being caught had dominated his mind as he’d snuck back into the warmth and relative safety of his room, but any real shame had seemed beyond his capabilities. He wasn’t disturbed by what he’d done – only by the thought of others knowing what he’d done.

Actually, now that he’s been doing it for a while, the entire affair seems quite inevitable… the big dark wolf, the ferocious sex, even the pack. All of it.

Now he sneaks out at night whenever he’s called. And sometimes when he’s not. Sometimes he sits on the wall and waits all night for a wolf that never comes, going inside at sunrise disappointed and lonely. Other times he’s rewarded for waiting, the snuffle of a canine altering him that he’s no longer alone and enticing him down from his perch.

Sometimes, during the week of the full moon, he’ll be called out several nights in a row. In fact, the cuts and bruises from his first foray had barely healed when he’d gone out for his second rendezvous. Small but noticeable injuries always accompany his lust-induced excursions beyond the wall. Cuts and bruises, skinned knees, the red lines of claw marks and even the pink indications of canine teeth are not unusual these days and he’s constantly hiding such things under clothes and explaining them away as his mother asks after him.

It’s hard to pretend that he minds. After all, he loves the marks. They are gifts left behind by the one who owns him. And yes, his Ware does own him. The idea of any other lover is sickening to him now. He wants only one. Following the call of his wild wolf, Dean emerges from safety again and again to eagerly give himself over and be bred.

His pulse races each time he’s called, his body eager and responsive. He sneaks from his home at the first possible chance and heads straight to the pack. He stands amid their number, hands shaking with excitement, and he strips. They gather to watch as his Ware approaches, proud and mighty.

The wolf had rolled Dean over just once, that very first time. After that, Dean has practically collapsed to the ground at the beast’s approach, every cell in his body buzzing with need. He waits in submission each time, his face turned down in respect but peeking surreptitiously to watch as his hulking wolf comes striding up, bright eyes embedded in dark fur.

Nothing has ever been so completely wrong and yet so right… so unbelievably dangerous and still so safe. Every time he’s mounted by his Ware, Dean is enveloped in fur, soft and warm. He’s nuzzled sweetly and licked reverently. But then, he’s also violently penetrated. He’s completely dominated and, quite literally, fucked into the ground. This happens with dozens of eyes on him and muted growls intermittently rising from the other canines nearby.

Craving the collective approval of his pack, Dean gives himself over to their alpha fully and lets the rest of the pack be part of it. His beast has a tongue made for sin and even if there were no others watching, it would be almost impossible not to whine pleadingly for more when his Ware laps at his entrance. Sadly, Dean rarely gets much of that before the creature is on him. Pressing a huge and swollen cock to Dean’s tender pink entrance, he doesn’t hesitate. He puts all his weight behind the motion when he pushes in and doesn’t bother pausing for Dean to catch his breath before he starts humping in earnest.

It’s not unusual for Dean’s little cock to wilt as he’s breached, and for it to stay soft for the first few minutes. If there’s one thing Dean hates, it’s that. He’s being watched by many, and all of them have a dick that's at least twice the size of his own. Maybe when he’s a man he’ll be more enviable in that department. But for now, he’s got a young boy’s dick and he really hates the way his pack chortle when it's soft and tiny and bouncing around beneath him.

The first few minutes are always painful, but Dean doesn’t actually mind that part. Sure, he’s dry and there’s no lube out here in the great wide open, but thankfully, the tongue that wets him first is long and deft. It’s also good that his beastly lover always seems to be leaking excitedly from his tip before they even start. The slick that dribbles onto his crack as the two line up for penetration is a welcome gift for Dean. But, even without wetness, he's sure he'd still grit his teeth and gladly take the pain. Even with wetness to ease the way, his wolf his huge and a measure of pain seems inevitable for at least the first few pumps.

Once his hole loosens up, the burning abates and in its wake is a buzzing sensation that slowly envelopes him from the waist down. Then, as his cock starts to fill again, Dean loves to feel it swinging beneath him in time with the thrusts. Always now, he looks around to see the eyes of those watching him from nearby and when the mood strikes, he has taken to showing off a bit. He throws his head back and arches his back, pushing back into the heavy thrusts he’s taking, allowing his own pleasure in that moment to drive them wild. None have ever dared approach him for a turn, probably because they know better. Dean’s dark wolf likely keeps them observant of some invisible boundary.

Since he usually has to wait for an opportunity to sneak off before meeting up with his Ware, Dean can seldom keep from jerking off beforehand. Because of that, it takes him longer to climax than his needy canine lover and he rarely comes the first time he’s fucked. Luckily, his alpha has quite a carnal appetite and always comes back for seconds or even thirds.

Between fucks, Dean stays down and waits because he knows that if he does – a sinfully talented tongue will return to his hole. His furry beast seems happy to push his nose between Dean's cheeks, lapping up his own slippery spend as it dribbles from Deans gaping, fucked out hole. Thrilled with the feeling as it happens, Dean rocks back into the wolfs snout aggressively and in response, those watching will often whine longingly.

Sometimes he jerks off while being tongued, biceps burning as he works desperately to come. Last time, he was so focused on getting off that he didn’t notice his Ware preparing to mount him again. Having a fat cock spear him when he wasn’t expecting it had been so blackly erotic that he’d spattered the ground, seen stars, and nearly passed out as he was impaled.

For Dean, the second time is almost always better than the first. His hole, already stretched and wet with a creamy load, can easily take all that he’s given and he shivers with delight when he feels the wolf at his back swell larger inside him, a second load ready to burst from his tip.

Holding back his screams of pleasure is harder the second or third time he's fucked because he's already so keyed up. The sex-addled rabid dog at his back is voracious and strong, far stronger than he is, and the creature doesn’t give pause when Dean climaxes. Rather, it keeps fucking him right through the orgasm. With hot, rasping breath on the back of his neck and teeth grazing the skin there, Dean can seldom keep his arms under him for the duration. So, by the time they’re actually finished, he’s long ago given up. Piled unceremoniously on the ground, he lays there like a wet mop and just lets his body be used until his alpha is finally finished with him.

Each time Dean comes out to them, the pack watch him be fucked within an inch of his life. Though his dark wolf clearly means him no harm, it is far from gentle with him. And though it makes no sense to Dean, he can’t deny that he loves it. Craves it. Can’t live without it.

Even now, tonight, as the moon once more nears its zenith, Dean waits for the opportunity to sneak out and meet his wolf. His heart cracks a little in his chest each time it calls to him and receives no answer from him. But, the moment has to be right for him to sneak away. He simply can't risk being caught. God only knows what his parents would do if they knew.

His dick is a veritable tent pole under the covers as he lays there waiting. Looking down at it, he wishes it were bigger. He wishes he were a man, not a boy. Regardless, his cock is eager for what is to come and so is the soft and tender hole between his cheeks. It’s aching to be stretched around an enormous canine cock. In fact, his whole body is eager and on edge as he waits. It had been hard to hide during the meal downstairs.

But, soon enough, he will be done hiding. He’ll be outside of the wall, open and free, bent double under the weight of a dark haired, blue-eyed beast, and witnessed in his debauchery by the rest of the pack. Eager beyond the telling of it, Dean waits until the silence of his residence is deep and complete. Only when he's sure everyone else is asleep does he throw back the covers and get out of bed. He moves on silent feet and opens the window cautiously.

It’s fall now and the breeze carries a chill. The trees bend gently and the leaves rustle. The moon is obscured by clouds and the sky is hazy. He doesn’t look back at his room or think of the family he leaves behind. Dean thinks only of ethereal blue eyes and handfuls of thick, dark fur as he crawls out the window.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> Here's the second chapter. Please remember this is unbeta'd. I hope you enjoy it.

Spring is in the air. Sunshine is streaming in through the window, warm and bright. The birds are singing in the tree out back. From beyond his bedroom door, Dean can hear his mother and his aunt moving around in the kitchen. There’s a faint clanging of pans and utensils, the drone of voices. Around him the day is pressing in, urging him to rise from his tangle of bedding and join the rest of his household.

Sadly, he’s hung over. His head is pounding. It feels like his brain has swollen larger than the confines of his skull will allow. There’s a sour taste in his mouth and it feels like there’s stomach acid pooled at the base of his esophagus. Just rolling over in bed sends a wave of nausea over him and before he can even try to will it away, a hot surge of boiling liquid erupts from his stomach. Rolling up the back of his throat, it pushes into his mouth and there’s nothing to be done but roll to the edge of his mattress and vomit onto the floor. He chokes and gags as it happens, fumbling feebly out of his bed like a newborn foal on knobby, unsteady legs. They give out, leaving him a pile on the floor next to his sick.

Finishing, he spits to rid his mouth of the last before swiping the back of his hand across his lips. The burn of bile remains in his throat and tears slip from the corner of his eyes. He wipes them away too. Breathing heavily, he leans back against his bed and hopes for the spinning to stop. Maybe he’s still a little drunk.

He’s seen his father hung over from time to time and it’s always pissed him off. He hates that side of his dad. It infuriates him to watch the man stagger to the table, grumpy and cross, only to sit hunched over a plate of delicious breakfast food as though he can barely tolerate the smell of it. Dean has never actually challenged his father on this kind of behavior. Instead, he simply makes a silent promise to never become what he hates. Dean’s got zero issues with boozing and hangovers, but once a man decides to settle down and have kids, those days should be behind him.

Sadly, Dean’s window is destined to be short in that regard. Having celebrated his sixteenth birthday a few months ago, he’s already considered to be a grown man. New to it, sure, but grown-up by the strictest definitions. He’s got a few months, at best, to enjoy the perks of adulthood (primarily booze and sex) before people start trying to get him ‘settled down’ with ‘a nice girl’ so he can ‘raise a family’. Translation: “Take a few months to enjoy yourself as you pick a breeding partner and then start crankin’ out kids before we all go extinct.”

His new role within this little community had begun its transition a few weeks before his actual birthday, near the end of December when everyone was getting ready to celebrate Christmas. Pulled out of school and into the daily rotation of manly chores and responsibilities, he’d been all set to start living as a man instead of a boy. At least his first day with the men had been a pleasant one – a gentle introduction to his new life.

Rather than starting Dean out with a hunt or a scavenging raid, his father and uncle had chosen to take him out Christmas shopping. Sadly, even with humanity arguably having run its course and the bitter end in sight, everyone still had to deal with the holidays. The commercial trappings of the season may have been obliterated by the bleakness of this new life, but the adults still hummed carols as the big day approached and people still told one another “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays” as they went about making preparations. There was still a festive meal, a day of rest and, of course, presents.

Glad to be off the hook for school if nothing else, Dean had embraced the outing. He’d gotten up that morning without grumbling. Then, he’d covered the freshest set of ‘love bites’ on his neck and shoulders with a turtle neck before heading downstairs. After breakfast he’d bundled up and headed out with the men, leaving little Sammy in the kitchen with their mother to bake cookies.

The ground had been brown that day, the trees bare. Dark branches had cut across the white sky and it had felt far more like autumn than winter as they’d walked down the road together. With gas being a finite resource now, no one ever really mowed lawns anymore. Even so, the yards that lined their street were still far more civilized in appearance than the sea of prairie grass and tangled shrubs growing outside of the wall.

In the early days of this new life, electricity had been intermittent. But, over time, the people had gone from complaining about increasing outages to celebrating occasional availability. A few hours of power had eventually become such a novelty that everyone would cheer the second it clicked on. Then, adults would scatter like roaches, desperate to do things that could only be done with the aid of electricity. Loads of laundry were foisted into washers and dryers at breakneck speed. Ovens clicked on. Power tools were plugged in to charge. Phones too. It didn’t matter that no one had been able to get a signal in ages. Desperate for information, they charged all devices and crossed fingers. Televisions and radios were flicked on, the men tinkered with them, but in the end there was never any real news. There hadn’t been for quite some time. There was no internet to speak of and absolutely no communication with the outside world. For all they knew, this little walled off section of Lawrence Kansas was all that was left of it anyway.

When he and Sammy had been younger, the adults would sometimes still let them play video games when the power was on, or even using the generator once in a while. But no one did that anymore. Dean hadn’t known that the last time they’d played World of Warcraft would be the last, last time. Had he known, he might’ve let his little brother win for once. And that’s what he’d been thinking about when heading out for their Christmas shopping excursion. 

“Maybe,” he had ventured, sandwiched between his Dad and his Uncle Bobby as they walked, “we could set aside a gallon of gas for the generator on Christmas. Let the kids play some video games… watch some old movies… you geezers could fall asleep in your chairs watchin’. It would be just like old times.”

“S’awful wasteful, son,” Bobby had answered. “A year from now we might need that gallon of gas to keep from freezing to death. You wanna waste it on TV and video games?”

“For the kids,” Dean had countered, thinking of Sammy.

“Maybe,” the men had answered in unison. Then, having reached the intersection at the next block, they’d turned to walk up the Walker’s driveway. The garage door was open and inside Dean could see Gordon using a red plastic gas can to fill the tank of his rusty beige pick-up truck. A handful of other men emerged from the darkness beyond to welcome them as they stepped in and went about arming themselves.

Dean had been the youngest among them for that excursion and he’d felt like a wide-eyed child the entire time. He stood watching as they readied and distributed weapons, accepting what they gave him and climbing into the bed of the truck with them. With Gordon and another militia leader in the cab, the half dozen men of their block had ridden out beyond their own small section. Crossing through several militia manned checkpoints, they’d eventually come to a gate. Dean had seen it before, but hadn’t been away from his own block in at least a year. Well, not on the inside of the wall anyway.

On the outside, with his pack, he’d done some exploring. Much like his father and the men of their stronghold, the pack hunted. Dean went along sometimes. He prowled the night with them, the knife in his boot as his only protection aside from the powerful claws and teeth of his second family. It might be ironic that his pack had brought Dean hunting long before his human father had, but Dean tries not to dwell on things like that… the stark differences between pack life and civilian life… and his strange preference for the ways of animals. Monsters.

And, yeah, they’re monsters. He’s seen them in action. He’s heard the screams of victims and watched as his pack get bloody. Maybe he’s got a bit of monster in him too. It’s easy for him to think so when he so easily accepts the nature of beasts and their ravenous appetites. Shares it, even.

The first time he’d celebrated a kill with them, Dean had been stunned how quickly he succumbed to the frenzy, how thrilled he’d been to be included in the group and welcomed to join in their depravity. He’d stripped and bent to the ground eagerly when it was time, thrilled to service his master. He hadn’t even hesitated to offer up the most vulnerable part of himself, literally arching his back to preen for their blood drenched alpha as it stalked up behind him menacingly. 

Hot breath on the back of his neck has become a trigger for Dean, immediately hardening him and making him weak in the knees. But these days, even when he knows that the wetness dripping from the canine muzzle between his shoulder blades is blood and not saliva, he has no fear in his heart. In fact, being amongst a pack of hunters has awakened something wild and animalistic in him that he’d only toyed with before. Getting fucked by a powerful, hulking beast in the moonlight is one thing – doing it bloody after a kill is another. Having pondered these things recently, Dean’s had to admit some harsh truths. He’s changing. Or, perhaps just becoming more himself. It’s hard to say.

Another area of concern for him lately is the way he craves being bitten by his alpha. The very idea of it fills him with lust and longing. When he’s getting fucked and he feels those fangs press against the skin at the back of his neck, as they nearly always do, he whispers feverish yeses. His wolf has never been shy about leaving some incidental teeth marks behind but Dean craves more. Every time he nears a climax, he’s hoping and praying that the beast will bite down hard – sink teeth into his flesh and drawn blood – drink it down.

The last time he’d been fucked, his cheek had been pressing into the earth and there had been sharp teeth resting at the nape of his neck. He’d whispered “Harder” several times in a row, the string of repeated words soon becoming a chant. Seeming to interpret Dean’s urgent request of ‘harder’ as a desire to speed up the thrusts and bury them deeper, his alpha had done so. But Dean hadn’t wanted to be _fucked_ harder, he’d wanted to be _bitten_ harder.

With the dark wolf doubling his efforts, Dean had come hard. He’d spurted a gush of hot liquid onto the ground between his knees and greyed out for a moment. But, incredible orgasm aside, he still hadn’t gotten what he really wanted and had wound up less than fully satisfied. 

The desire to bleed for his master is innate in Dean, part of him. It seems to have been there all along, and now that he’s become aware of it, he often stares longingly at his bite marks in the mirror. As though capable of human levels of restraint, the blue-eyed wolf has never really bitten down hard. Not even in the throes of passion. But, he does seem to be noticing Dean’s acceptance of his marks, primarily teeth marks, and has begun breaking a little skin when the mood strikes him.

For Dean’s part, any indication that teeth had been there is good. Tiny little puncture marks thrill him but even little pink indents from pressure are welcome. Scratch marks from an errant claw are also quite sensual to him. These days, Dean has to cup his cock when he looks at his marks. The immediate swell of his package being a notable side effect of acknowledging his feral side. So, yeah, Dean’s probably just as much a monster as any of those that the men in his community hunt. And he’s surprisingly okay with that.

Back when he’d gone out with the men for Christmas shopping, he’d ridden in the back of Gordons truck, perched on the raised wheel well. He’d looked around at the desolate remains of urban life in Kansas and thought that it probably never belonged here to begin with. This was prairie land before it was covered with shopping centers anyway. And with the metropolitan areas deserted, the wildness of the plains has been steadily reclaiming it. Surveying the scenery, Dean had noticed tufts of tall brown grass growing from every fissure and crevice. Cracks in the road were widening and chunks of asphalt were being dislodged as vegetation pushed up from beneath. Animals had scattered ahead of their truck, alerted by its roaring of its engine.

He’d noticed there were far more animals visible inside the wall than there were outside of it. Wild dogs and cats that were once domestic had been left to breed unchecked season after season, and they were the most visible. Raccoons were plentiful too, so were squirrels, rabbits, rats and other small animals. There were even deer - more than Dean ever would’ve thought. But, in here, the apex predators were humans with guns. They hunted carefully, cautious not to kill so much that they ran themselves out of meat. Outside the wall, Dean’s wares are the apex. They are the feared hunters. And they’ve picked the landscape clean. Sadly, they were going hungry. In fact, some of the weaker members of the pack even had visible signs of it – their ribs showing prominently and their fur appearing dull and mangy. The pack weren’t ravenous because they were monsters, not so far as Dean was concerned. They were ravenous because they were ravenous.

Looking down at the shiny pistol in his hands, Dean had kept quiet in the back of the truck with the men, even when those around him had grown boisterous and jovial. This, after all, was practically a day off for them. The truck got parked in the middle of what had once been a busy shopping area, but was now completely abandoned. Having been raided over and over, there wasn’t much left. Nearly every store window was broken out and empty shelves were visible from twenty paces.

Dean had watched the men closely as they converged on a dilapidated Toys R Us building and noticed that their tactics seemed eerily similar to those of his pack. They spread out in a semi-circle with the leader front and center, weapons and attention facing outward to intercept should they be attacked from either side.

The few men in the back, of which Dean had been numbered, continually turned to watch for anything approaching from behind them.

Broken glass had crunched under their boots as they’d entered the store and most anything of value had already been gone. There were no bottles of soda or water near the checkouts, no candy bars, no snack foods of any kind. Anything that would burn had been taken as well, so had anything that might’ve been used as a weapon. But, as they’d moved deeper into the store, Dean had seen some things that Sammy might actually want. He even spied a small end cap with dusty rolls of wrapping paper neatly stacked.

“You might be on to something, kid,” chuckled Bobby. Realizing that he was being addressed, Dean had looked over at his uncle. The man was standing near a display of video game consoles and cartridges. Of no value in this post-post-modern age, they were literally untouched. Dust covered, but otherwise like new.

“So,” Dean had huffed, gathering a few boxes under one arm, “you think a gallon of gas is worth it?”

“Might be,” the man nodded.

“It’s gonna be a good Christmas,” his father had grinned. Dean had smiled too – thrilled to watch as the adults began digging into the display. They peppered him with questions about which games would be best, which movies he thought they should grab, and they didn’t even blink when he began taking rolls of wrapping paper for their gifts.

That first outing as a man among men had been a good one for Dean. The only real irritation had been Gordon. He’d probably just been trying to make sure Dean felt welcome since he was the newest member of the group. But he’d tried a little too hard and the overkill had left Dean feeling smothered. He’d been glad when they hopped back in the truck to head home because that meant Gordon would be in the cab while Dean rode in the back.

The Christmas celebration that year was one of the better Dean could remember in recent years and a day of electronic entertainment had been tremendous fun. Watching Sammy’s eyes light up as he ripped the wrapping paper off of his presents had made Dean ridiculously happy.

But, having given the matter some thought, Dean hadn’t stayed in his family home that night. Instead he snuck out to meet his pack. Since it was Christmas, he’d wanted to do something special for his second family, even if they wouldn’t really understand the significance of it. 

With extreme caution he’d moved through the house filling a cardboard box. He liberated a few packages of cured meat from their storage in the cellar and a few leftover goodies from their holiday meal that he’d thought might not be missed. Also tucked into the box was some food he’d snuck from his own plate at Christmas dinner… bland compared to the rich and decadent foods he’d enjoyed back when he was a boy, but quite a treat compared to raw, uncooked meat that the monsters usually had to tear from a warm body.

Once he was surrounded by his pack, Dean had tucked the best of what he’d brought into the crook of his arm and left the remainder of the box to be plundered by his hungry pack mates. Putting his back to them as they tore into the meat, Dean had set his sights on presenting his offering of special treats to the one who owned him. Crouching humbly at the alphas feet, Dean had watched closely as a curious nose had pushed through the items for a moment before hungrily devouring them.

Only when the alpha was finished eating and clearly satisfied did Dean strip down and present himself to be, in turn, devoured. As always, the sex between them was brutal and witnessed by the entire pack. As was normal for them, the pack didn’t just watch but continually edged closer, occasional whines of longing or growls of jealousy rising from deep in their chests. Dean’s body was used harshly and pushed to its physical limits as dozens of eyes watched without blinking. Still, despite his urging and desperate need, no teeth sank into his flesh when he came. Not the first time, or the three times after that. Little pricks that left marks? Yes. A deep bite that would ooze blood for his alpha to drink? No.

Once he’d been properly bred, Dean had lain in the open field for quite some time recovering. By coincidence, he’d been out in the open and looking up at the sky when the first few snowflakes had started to fall. As if glad to share the sweetness of the moment with him, Dean’s alpha did something it had never done before. That night, amid the first of the winter’s snows, it had lain down beside him.

Naked and chilled, he’d immediately rolled over into the animal’s thick fur. Curling its body around him in response, the creature had leaned down and licked his face tenderly. One by one, the others had come forward to, dropping to the ground around him nose to tail. A sea of colored fur, paws and tails, the warmth of the moment had been both physical and emotional for Dean. Tucked in warmly with the others, his body protected in the comforting embrace of his own dark beast, Dean had slept soundly and contentedly.

The first streaks of daylight had been on the horizon when he’d finally climbed back up the wall. From the top, he’d turned and looked back at his canine lover only to find the beast staring at him with wide, sad eyes. Clearly, neither had wanted to part.

After that first magical snow had turned the ground from brown to white, the winds had set in and brought the winter storms down on them. Dean had embarked on hunting trips with the men as weather allowed. But, things were different in this new world. First of all, the days of checking weather reports three days ahead were gone. No one ever knew when a storm was bearing down on them until it was too late. Being caught out in one was deadly for many reasons, but they took the risk again and again to procure the things that they couldn’t live without.

Finding something to burn for warmth and food preparation was a daily chore and since the men were reluctant to use precious fuel on something so frivolous as a chainsaw, they used axes to bring down trees. Their own part of town had been picked clean long ago. The only trees remaining now were those that people were reluctant to cut down, trees like the one in the back yard he was using increasingly more often to sneak out at night.

So, in ever widening circles, the men of Dean’s stronghold ventured out to cut wood, scavenge empty homes and stores, even shoot animals. All in the desperate attempt to keep warm. Keep eating. Keep living.

Normally, they’d return home from tree cutting or scavenging trips completely exhausted. After eating the evening meal they’d shuffle off to bed only to wake early the next day and do it all again. The back breaking work was relentless. But still, Dean found himself unable to ignore a call from his Ware when it reached in through the walls. Sometimes it was his pack calling and sometimes it wasn’t. Regardless, Dean wasn’t afraid. He was lots of things, but fearful wasn’t one of them.

When he’d sneak out on these cold winter nights, Dean would still get what he wanted. He’d still bare his ass to the moon and he’d still bite his lip bloody as a hot throbbing cock pushed into him from behind. But, in this weather, he didn’t strip naked. He’d keep his clothes on, even his coat, just unzipping to free his crotch and hurriedly rucking his jeans down enough to bare has ass.

The first time he’d done that, his wolf had looked at him strangely, a sidelong glance that showed the whites of his eye around the edge. As though he couldn’t believe Dean was still willing, the creature had tipped his head curiously and Dean had burst out laughing.

“What?” he’d husked, bending down in the snow. “You think I’m gonna fuckin’ wait for spring or somthin’?”

As though the beast could understand his humor somehow, the wolf dipped his head obligingly and gently moved into position over Dean’s back. Deeply inhaling his lovers fur, Dean had accepted affection from the beasts soft muzzle for a moment as it had lined up between his cheeks to press in. Normally, the initial moment of penetration took Dean’s breath away. So he sucked in a ragged breath and held it to prepare as he felt the familiar wide crown of a huge black cock come to rest against his crack. Wiggling a bit to center it against his expectant bud, Dean turned to speak over his shoulder and grumbled, “It ain’t gettin’ any warmer out here, c’mon and fuck me already.”

The creature might not understand the intricacies of human speech, but he seemed to recognize a bossy bottom when it crouched beneath him. Giving Dean no pause to collect himself or prepare, the beast dispensed with gentility and heaved himself forward with wicked intent. Without so much as the flick of a tongue to wet his way, the dark alpha pushed his bulbous cock against Dean’s furled entrance shoved his erect shaft forward. As it burst through the ring of tight muscle, Dean had been thrown forward on his face, off kilter and struggling to recover.

With his gloved hands seeking purchase in the cold, wet snow, Dean fought to keep his face out of it. Even as he struggled, his Ware was pushing in deeper. Dean gasped and sputtered as the stinging, burning pain circled his rim. He was stretched wider and wider until he could take no more. Pounding a fist on the ground as he was split open, Dean cursed under his breath over and over but still, his alpha continued sinking deeper on one long push.

When powerful fur-covered haunches come to rest against Dean’s own flanks, he knew the wolf was fully seated in him. That cock was so big and so wide and so long that it didn’t just spear his hole. It pushed up inside him, Dean would’ve sworn, all the way up behind his rib cage. He felt like he’d explode from being stuffed so full. He’d never felt anything like it. Incredibly powerful, hot and hard inside him, he felt ruined through and through… like he’d never be the same. It hurt like hell to be stuffed like this, to take far more cock than a human body should be able to take, but through the pain, Dean felt his mouth lock open in ecstasy. For the first time ever, he was unable to hold back the scream that ripped from his throat.

All this time he’d been holding back his screams for a reason – he didn’t want to be heard by other people and caught doing what he’d been doing. Somehow, his pack must’ve known, because as the sound broke from him, they covered it. Unanimously they broke into braying howls that drowned out his own. In nearby residences people were probably stopping mid-sentence to listen and wonder what was happening that a frenzy of howling had broken out. But it was all just to cover Dean finally letting out what he’d previously bottled up.

Dean, stiff as a board, remained paralyzed until the creature began to withdraw. Then he collapsed, folding down with his thighs resting on his calves and his upper body resting limp on his arms. After that first big push, which had no doubt been the beasts way of reminding Dean who was boss, he rocked into Dean with more normal thrusts. Still stretched around his wolf’s massive cock, Dean laid there buzzing warmly despite the cold and let his body be used. As if to keep Dean humble and in his proper place, the beast kept using a powerful paw to push his head back down into the white powder each time he began to regain composure. Lifting his head every chance he got, Dean would look around at the other wolves until pushed back down again. “Yeah, buddy, yeah,” he encouraged from his lowly position. “That’s it. Take what’s yours. Fuckin’ take it.”

As always, his greedy hole eventually began to loosen, which was normally the time when Dean would start showing off for the other wolves. But this time he wasn’t even enjoying the sex because his dick was buried in the snow beneath him. Working to bear the weight of the heavy dog still humping him, Dean scrambled to get his knees back under him and lift his hindquarters. For once he didn’t mind his cock being small – simply because it was easier to keep it up out of the snow that way.

This time, none of his pack mates seemed to be mocking his little pink package as it flopped around beneath him. They seemed to understand. Cold is cold.

Exhausted already, Dean hummed contentedly when the beast came, thinking it would be over. The load of hot cum being pumped into him had an effect similar to drinking coffee or cocoa when cold, a bloom of warmth in his belly that stayed with him for several minutes.

But rather than let it be over, his carnally exuberant wolf chose to spend a few minutes insistently licking at his entrance. His tongue was long and strong and it soon gave Dean his second wind. With his abused hole once more twitching to be filled, Dean positioned himself for mounting. Then, as he pushed back onto the heated flesh of an erect canine cock, he looked around at the pack.

Because he now trusted them to cover for him, he went ahead and howled mightily when the alpha laid into him again. It felt so good to just let go and scream as pleasure was pounded into him that he kept at it, carrying on like a bitch in heat as his little pink pecker swelled and began to slap his belly on each push from behind. His human cries were drowned out by the wolfish ones around him as Dean was savagely fucked. The wolves watched it all hungrily, either wishing to have him or be him. He had no idea which.

Hot breath in his ear, wet nose in his hair, insistent muzzle rooting down under his hood to find the skin of Dean’s neck… these were what made getting fucked raw in the freezing cold worth it. He came hard that day, so hard that it dizzied him. Tugging his pants up when it was over, Dean had buried his face in thick black fur and murmured to his alpha, “Never stop. Never stop fucking me.” Strangely, the wolf seemed to understand him. Perhaps it was because Dean’s tone betrayed a truer sentiment than his actual words did.

After that initial snowy romp, Dean and his Ware didn’t let the weather dampen their desires. They fucked shamelessly no matter what. They did, however, start to communicate better. Dean, as the only hairless member of the pack, could only endure the elements for a finite amount of time. So, when seeking to unite with the wolves, he’s begun whistling a tune. Usually something by Zeppelin. The animals seem able to hear him from miles away and they come running to meet up with him.

With this becoming their new routine, Dean and his burly alpha are able to fuck quite regularly through the coldest and most dreary months of the year. Cuddling after good sex is far easier to rationalize when it’s disguised as seeking warmth and protection against a bitter wind. With that as his excuse for post-coital snuggles, winter is quickly becoming his favorite season. He lays naked with his warm furry wolf, sated and content, the rest of his pack surrounding them in furry tangle of noses, paws, and tails. Dean loves it and he begins lingering with them longer and longer, even during raging snow storms. He shares food with them when he can manage it and hunts with them when the opportunity arises. Leaving the pack in favor of home has been getting harder for quite a while now. And, sadly, living as an adult in his community has been growing equally intolerable at the same time.

The chores aren’t the issue. Dean can make his peace with the hard work. He can even feel okay about being separated from Sammy so much. After all, Sam is a kid, looked after by moms and teachers. Dean is now an adult. They’re just living in two different worlds now. It’s been a long time since they’ve shared a school, a room, or even a secret. All of this he can tolerate. What he’s finding increasingly difficult to cope with is everyone’s sudden and urgent need to find him a wife.

He’d known the time would come, he just hadn’t expected it to come so soon or to be such a big focus for the adults in his life. But, before the spring thaw has even arrived, his mother is already inviting eligible girls over to the house for dinner. Like a parade of possible brood mares for a breeder, these poor girls sit through dinner at his house with his family, make polite conversation, and then allow him to walk them home.

If he were to be interested in any of them, he would’ve kissed one goodnight after walking her home. Doing so would’ve been an indication that he was interested in more. But he can’t even imagine it. He doesn’t want a wife. He doesn’t want that kind of life.

Given a choice of how to live, he’d prefer to just get his own place… one where he doesn’t have to sneak out to meet his wolf but can come and go as he pleases. Maybe, just maybe, he could get a place with a fireplace and throw a big bearskin rug down on the floor in front of it. Imagining himself curled up with his wolf on that rug with a fire crackling nearby makes his heart tremble with longing. 

The picture in his mind is sweet and sensual when he takes a minute to explore it… his bare naked skin surrounded by thick dark fur… soft whuffles coming from a curious muzzle as it explores every inch of Dean’s body without any need to rush… Dean petting, actually petting… his fingers slipping down between two furry legs to toy with the heavy the balls that hang there, coaxing a slippery shaft from its hiding place, maybe even putting his mouth on it… his pack of well-fed wolves lounging on the periphery, their ears pricking up with interest as lazy explorations become more heated between Dean and their alpha. Yes.

Yes.

That is what he wants more than anything - a place of his own where he can just live how he wants and where the wolves can come and go as they please. And maybe, just maybe, he could actually get laid in a real bed every once in a while. Sure, getting railed out in the open under a full moon is thrilling. But sometimes a man just wants to lay comfortably on soft sheets while his asshole gets licked open by a giant alpha wolf. Sometimes, yeah, a man needs a nice memory foam mattress under him when he’s getting fucked halfway to death and praying that his time, finally, the teeth on his neck will sink in.

Thoughts like these, of a life lived comfortably and in his own unique way, tease at Dean’s mind more and more as the winter begins fading into spring. The first time it rains instead of snowing, he stands at his window for half the night contemplating a trip out beyond the wall. Thunder and lightning have charged the air with electricity and he can feel it in his bones. He’s restless. He paces, pausing frequently to stare out the window and consider going out. He’d love to be tackled down into the wet grass, have his soaking clothes torn from his body and watch lightning streak the sky above him as he’s violently fucked into the mud.

But, what’s the point in going out in a storm and getting drenched if his pack isn’t even in the area. Why bother sitting atop the wall like a damned lightning rod just to watch other wares, ones he doesn’t know or care about, ones he fears, as they move across the plains below? There’s no point to it at all.

So, to rid himself of the nervous energy he’s carrying, Dean retires to bed and jerks off thinking of his blue-eyed alpha wolf and how it feels to be mounted by him. Then, a few hours later when the sun comes up, Dean looks out the window. At first, he’s relieved to have stayed indoors. Then, on the heels of that, he begins to grow concerned for his pack.

While he was warm and dry, they’d been out in the storm. Hopefully they’d taken cover somewhere and that’s why he’d not heard from them last night. His eyes rove the outside world through the window and his breath fogs it, the condensation immediately freezing. The temperature must’ve dropped considerably after he’d fallen asleep because the world below is encased in ice. The rain, having frozen as it fell, has left icicles hanging from everything he can see. It’s snowing now and judging by the amount of fresh powder on the ground, it’s been coming down for a while now.

The house is quiet downstairs, which is odd. Wondering why no one is cooking breakfast, he heads down. His father and Uncle Bobby are napping in the living room, John stretched out on the sofa and Bobby in the recliner with a book perched on his chest as though he’d fallen asleep reading it. No one else is around and it’s quiet as a grave.

“Where’s mom and Aunt Ellen,” he asks, waiting for one of the sleeping men to wake and answer.

John blinks awake, rolls over, and mumbles something before the snoring resumes. “Bobby,” he tries, elevating his voice as he turns to his uncle, “Where’s Mom and Aunt Ellen?”

Startling bodily, the man fumbles to recover the book when it falls. Looking like he’s feeling guilty for sleeping, he peers up sheepishly at Dean. “Mildred’s place,” he answers, referring to an older widowed woman that lives down the road. “She’s been sick and they went to check on her. Said somethin’ about stayin’ to play cards for a while, ya know, keep her company. Sammy went with ‘em.”

“Why the hell would he do that?” Dean wonders aloud. “Who wants to play cards with a bunch of old ladies?”

“Mind your tongue, son,” barks Bobby jokingly. “One of those ‘old ladies’ is my damned wife.”

“Roger that,” chuckles Dean, dropping into the chair next to him. “I guess I just figure if the kid had a snow day, he’d rather hang with me.”

“Well, you figured wrong,” he replies, leaning towards Dean conspiratorially. “But that’s ‘cause you didn’t know that Mildred’s niece is stayin’ with her while she’s sick.”

“Niece,” hums Dean, trying to remember the name of the young girl Bobby’s referring to. “That would be Jessica, right?”

“Yeah,” nods Bobby, “pretty little blonde thing… not much older than Sammy… smart and funny… game of cards is soundin’ better and better aint it boy?”

“You could say that,” he nods, leaning back in his chair as if his new plan for the day is to join the codgers for nap time. Closing his eyes, he thinks not of pert young blonde girls but of dark scruffy fur and bright blue eyes.

“You been seein’ quite a few lately,” snickers Bobby, turning the subject from Sam’s attempts to court a girl to his own attempts to thwart them. “Settled on one yet?”

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. “Right on time,” chuckles Dean, hopping up from the chair to go answer it. “You almost had me cornered for a second there.”

“I’ll getcha next time,” Bobby retorts from behind him. “I know where you live.”

Opening the door, Dean is surprised to see Gordon standing on their stoop. “Checking the wall?” he asks, unsure why anyone would undertake such a task on a day like today.

“Naw,” the man answers. “I kinda need a hand with somethin’ in the garage… came to see if ya had time to help me out.”

“Sure,” he answers, unable to think of a reason not to. He’d almost rather stay and have the uncomfortable talk with his uncle. He used to like Gordon when they were younger, they’d had a lot in common. They’d even gotten drunk together once, back when they weren’t old enough to drink and had to sneak it. Now they’re grown. Well, mostly. But Gordon just rubs him the wrong way, more than usual in recent days, though Dean’s never really been able to put a finger on why. “Lemme just get suited up,” he adds, heading for the closet. “How cold is it out there?”

“It’s not so bad,” the man answers, watching Dean put on his heavy coat. “Maybe just grab a hat and gloves for the walk over to my place. I’ve got a fire goin’ in the garage.”

Dean nods, grabs the recommended outerwear and calls a goodbye to Bobby over his shoulder as he heads out into the storm with Gordon on his heels. Dean slips on the very first step, the glaze of ice under his feet damp from the snowfall and slippery as snot. “Damn,” he curses, catching himself before going down. He takes the remainder of the trip much more slowly, Gordon falling in alongside him as they walk down the middle of the street. They make small talk all the way to Gordons place and for Dean it’s excruciating. To further irritate him, he hears the call of his pack in the distance. Twenty minutes ago, that would’ve brightened his day considerably. Maybe he would’ve even found some way to slip out and meet them. But not now. Now he’s condemned to spending time with Gordon instead, doing god-knows-what ridiculous chore.

Stepping into the man’s garage, the two shed their outerwear and hang it on hooks near the door. “This is my issue today,” he says, nodding to the truck.

“What’s goin’ on with her?” Dean asks, walking over to take a look.

“M’not sure,” he replies, his eyes boring into Dean as if there’s something important that he’s meant to understand under the words. “I can’t get her to turn over. I’ve got fuel and I’ve got fire, man. She cranks but wont turn over. Any ideas?”

“Well, could be the ignition,” he tries, climbing to sit behind the wheel. “Where’s the key?”

“Visor,” says Gordon, walking around to climb into the cab from the passenger side. Reaching up, Dean’s fingers find the keys easily enough. He pushes them into the ignition and tries the engine. It starts right up.

“Okay, ya got me,” grins Gordon. “I just wanted to hang for a while.” Dean turns the engine off and looks over at him incredulously. The man doesn’t even seem to notice how put-off he is. Reaching into the glove box, he pulls out a leather bound flask and offers it to Dean. Never one to turn down a drink, Dean takes it from him. Tipping it back, he takes a deep swig and grimaces as the burn works its way down his gullet. Repeating the motion before handing it back, he can already feel the alcohol doing its job.

“Nothin’ like some gut-rot at nine am, right?” he jokes, trying to keep things light.

“Aint that the truth,” he laughs. Then he tips the flask in a ‘cheers’ type gesture and says, “To good friends.” When the man has taken a pull, he hands it back. Dean takes a third and fourth before letting his head tip back on the seat to enjoy the soft buzz that’s setting in. He doesn’t open his eyes or acknowledge Gordon in any way, but he feels it when the man draws closer. The skin on the back of his neck prickles when he feels the flask lifted from his hand, an errant finger stroking along the back of Dean’s hand in the process.

Logic tells him that the touch means nothing. His gut tells him to get the fuck out of the truck and as far from Gordon as possible.

“Dean,” he says softly. “I have to tell you somethin’ but I don’t wanna piss you off.”

“Then don’t piss me off,” he throws back, not hiding his irritation anymore.

“Dean,” he says again, probably hoping that Dean will turn his head and meet his eye. Dean is resolute. He will not. He keeps his eyes shut and waits for the man to say whatever he wants to say and get it over with. “Dean, I think you and I are a lot more alike than you think we are.”

“Oh yeah? How so?”

“Well, we’re both different from the others. We want things. Things they wouldn’t understand. Things that need to be kept secret.”

“The fuck?” he asks, eyes blinking open and a mask of confusion carefully in place on his face. “What are you fuckin’ talking about, Gordon?”

“I’m talkin’ about bein’ the kind of man that needs a man. Ya know?” As the words are said, Dean feels the man’s hand settle on his thigh.

“No,” he says firmly, pushing the hand away. “Look, man, I don’t know what you _think_ you know, but trust me – you don’t.”

“I know you like it in the back door,” he says, his face turning cold and calculating. “I know that much.”

Dean doesn’t know what has triggered the words being said, but he does know that this conversation is dangerous to him. He can’t see too many options on how to handle it either. Aside from pulling the ever-present knife from his boot and murdering this man in his own garage, his choices seem to be either fight or flight. Unable to choose between them, he does both.

Without thinking it though, Dean turns his body and pulls his arm back. Snapping it forward again, he connects his fist with Gordons jaw and watches the man’s head snap back from the force of it. The crack of bone is satisfying in the moment, guaranteeing injury to his opponent. But even before Dean’s even got the door open, the pain of having landed a solid punch is radiating through the bones of his hand. He struggles with the handle and bails clumsily out of the truck. Then, he curls his uninjured hand protectively around the one that’s in pain as he pivots towards the exit.

Grabbing his coat from the hook near the door, Dean tugs it on sparing only a quick glance at Gordon as the man emerges from the vehicle cradling his jaw. “Look,” he says to Dean, “I didn’t mean it like that. I ain’t lookin’ down on ya, Winchester. I’m a man’s man too.”

“Don’t,” he rebukes sharply, not even remotely interested in further discussion.

“Dean,” he shouts loudly, stopping him in his tracks with one hand on the door knob. He doesn’t look this time. He just waits there with his hand on the knob and stares at the door while he listens. When the man speaks again, his voice is softer. The sound of it drawing nearer betrays Gordon as still moving closer to him. “I get it, man. I know how it is… we don’t ever wanna let the wrong people know. So it can get to feelin’ like there’s nobody else – nobody like us. I mean, we might be the last fucking people on Earth. There’s maybe a hundred of us… it’s no wonder all they think about is pairin’ us off to make babies. But don’tcha see that’s why I had to tell ya. ‘Cause you and me might be the only ones. We’re in this together, man. We’re the same, you and me.”

“We’re not the same,” he sighs, wondering what words he could possibly use to shoot this man down. Seriously. If his issue was being gay, as Gordon seems to think it is, then what reason would he ever have for not pairing off with the only other man alive that isn’t into tits?

More than anything else, he has to protect his secret. No one can know. But does that mean he’s gonna have to start blowing Gordon on the side just to keep him from getting suspicious about Dean’s real preferences? He’s already jugging half a dozen marriage-hungry women, does he now have to add a man to the list?

From behind him, he feels Gordon snake an arm around his waist. Like a deer that’s just heard a twig snap nearby, Dean stands perfectly still as he assesses the danger level. He’s not even breathing. Seeming encouraged by Dean’s lack of resistance, Gordon lets his hand drop down from waist to groin. He cups Dean’s package and speaks softly into Dean’s shoulder. Terrifying words.

“I’ve seen you,” he says, and Dean’s blood runs cold. “I’ve seen you go out and bend over for the wares. Some people might think that’s nasty as fuck. But not me. I get it, man, I do. You probably thought you were the only one who didn’t dream ‘bout busty girls. You probably thought that those mongrels were the only ones who could give it to you the way you want it. But Dean, man, I can do it for ya. I mean, I _wanna_ do it for ya.”

If Gordon were a more perceptive man, he’d have noticed by now that Dean wasn’t growing hard under his hand… or that he wasn’t relaxing into the embrace. But, either bullheaded or stupid, the man misses the biggest clues. Instead, he believes Dean’s softly whispered words when he shouldn’t.

“Not here.”

“Where?” asks Gordon, pressing closer.

“Someone could come lookin’,” says Dean. “My dad, your dad, anyone. Then we’d be caught.”

“It’s cold outside.”

“Let’s take your truck.”

“Yeah,” he says, giving Dean’s dick a final squeeze before pulling away. “We’ll get some privacy. Where we headed?”

“There’s a place over by the South gate,” Dean says confidently. Climbing in the passenger side this time, Dean picks up the flask again and drinks deep while Gordon goes about starting up the truck and backing out of the garage. The two pass the drink back and forth between them as they drive slowly and carefully down slippery, vacant streets. When they near the gate, which is manned, he drops the flask to the floor and bends to pick it up. He takes his time, pretending to lose it under the seat. Dropping to one knee on the floor of the cab, he makes sure to feel Gordon make an anticipated turn before sitting back up. Grinning as though he’s just a clumsy fool, Dean pushes the boot legged whiskey back into Gordons hand and gestures towards an adjacent alley as the man tips it back. “You can park along the wall here,” he says, trying to seem like a guy who’s starting to get eager – a guy who wants some dick.

Gordon, clearly not suspicious at all, pulls up where Dean had instructed and turns off the engine. “We could do it right here,” he says, leaning in.

“Dude,” Dean laughs, “there’s armed gaurds a fuckin’ block over. Are you kiddin’ me?”

“They ain’t gonna blow us away for suckin’ each other off in my truck, Dean.”

“Says you,” he chuckles, turning to exit the cab. “I ain’t takin’ any chances.”

“Winchester,” chuckles Gordon, “what the fuck are you even doin’?”

“C’mon,” he chastises, challenging the man to follow him as he hoists himself up to the roof of the truck cab. “You can do it.”

“Of course I can do it,” he says with an eye roll. “Point is, I should’ve have to.”

“Anything worth doin’ is worth doin’ right,” counters Dean, making an example of himself as he heaves himself from the roof of the cab to the top of the wall.

“You gonna be sayin’ that when you polish my knob?” teases the man, following like a sheep.

“Only if you say the same when you’re fuckin’ my sweet ass,” he says boldly, giving Gordon a raised eyebrow of invitation before turning to scale down the outside of the wall.

“Wait,” he says, pausing at the top as he watches Dean shimmy down. “I ain’t goin’ out there,” he says firmly.

“I think you are,” says Dean confidently, unbuckling his belt. “You’re comin’ out here with me ‘cause you wanna get some.” As if to further temp the man, Dean reaches down into his pants and cups himself. “You want this, man, you gotta come ‘n git it.”

“Why,” he demands, still from the top of the wall. He’s speaking to Dean, but his eyes rove the wild prairie lands that Dean’s come to know well. “Why would ya wanna do it out there? We could get fuckin’ eaten alive.”

“Okay, first of all,” says Dean, losing his patience, “I’ll let you in on a goddam secret. There’s a reason why we shoot the damned mutts at twenty paces when we’re out huntin’, man, and it ain’t ‘cause they’re werewolves. When someone gets bit by one of them, ya know what happens? Fuckin’ nothin’. Nothin’ happens. They’re just mutated wolves. Are they bigger and stronger than the ones we grew up watchin’ on the nature channel? Hell yeah. But we hunt them down like they’re fuckin’ werewolves from some freakin’ horror movie. And we do that for one reason – ‘cause we were told to. They make it seem like these fuckin’ Wares are some kind of monster that we need a wall to protect us from, Gordon, but I don’t buy it. Not for a damned minute. That fuckin’ wall ain’t for keepin’ the Wares out… it’s for keepin’ us in.”

Gordon shifts his weight, looks around tentatively. Dean chooses to continue. “It’s because there’s somethin’ out here that they don’t want us to see. Maybe it’s another group of survivors or a secret fuckin’ lab. I don’t know and I don’t fuckin’ care. I come out here for one damned reason, Gordon. ‘Cause they fuckin’ told me not to.”

With that, Dean rests his case. It’s not well thought out logic on his part, but it doesn’t matter. There’s enough truth in it for the ploy to work on Gordon. He nods agreement and follows Dean’s example for how to scale down the wall. Turning, Dean starts to walk and Gordon falls in step beside him. Letting his first genuine smile of the day settle into place on his face, Dean begins to whistle Ramblin’ On.

“What is that?” Gordon asks, “It sounds familiar.”

Dean tells him the song and which album to find it on and the two walk another thirty feet or so before the man asks how much farther they have to hike for him to get a blow job. Dean grins widely, his mood having drastically improved in the past few minutes. Off in the distance he hears a lone howl. “Get it out,” he says, dropping to his knees in the snow and ice-crusted grass.

Gordon doesn’t wait, he immediately puts two hands to his jeans and while he’s momentarily distracted with pulling out his dick, Dean’s pulling the knife from his boot. Without a moment’s hesitation, he plunges forward and buries the blade in the meat of Gordon’s thigh. The bastard crumples to the ground with a shriek of agony. The wretched garbling sound cuts off in a sob as Dean pounces on him, twisting the blade to pull it back out while leaving behind as much damage as possible.

“I should leave you like this,” he growls vehemently. “You’d never make it in time.”

“Make it,” he cries feebly, “Make what?” The man is balled up on one side in the fetal position, both hands cradling his injury as he looks back at Dean. 

“The wall, man,” he replies with an eye roll. “You’d never make it back over the wall before they got you.”

“Who?”

“The Wares,” Dean tells him coolly, wiping the bloodied blade off in the snow next to him. “They’re gonna get you, Gordon. Welcome to the fuckin’ food chain.”

“Fuck, Winchester, how can you do me like this?” he demands.

Getting to his feet, Dean begins walking slow circles around Gordon, knife in hand as if daring him to make a move. All the while, he whistles Ramble On.

Gordon processes his situation slowly, and Dean chuckles aloud each time the man realizes that, yes, he’s about to die. Dean’s alpha is the first to arrive, the second and third strongest of the pack trailing a few paces behind. At first, his blue-eyed wolf looks confused, uncertain what to make of the fact that Dean’s not alone, not stripping, not presenting himself to be fucked.

But then, the great wolf sniffs the air with intent, identifies the mixing scents of blood and sweat and salty tears. Watching the creature’s eyes, Dean can see the moment he processes everything and labels the mixture for the sum of its parts. Desperation.

Dean steps back, gesturing towards Gordon as if he’s a take-out meal that’s been brought here just for the wolves to enjoy. Because he is.

“Start with his feet,” Dean says, hatred seasoning his words like table salt. Dean’s lumbering wolf nods as if he understands. And he probably does. The wolf may not know his language, but Dean’s done doubting that he’s understood when he speaks. Maybe they _just get_ each other.

Looking over at Gordon one last time, Dean cups his package and laughs icily as he says, “I should let you live long enough to watch me get laid.” The words are cruel and monstrous to his own ears but Dean doesn’t regret saying them. In fact, he doubles down. Tipping his head towards the dark haired wolf at his side, Dean asks Gordon, “How’s it feel to know I’d rather be his bitch than yours?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments make or break my day ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Hope the week is going well for all of you. Please remember that this is unbeta'd.  
> Also, sorry I couldn't wrap this up in three chapters like I thought. I had to add one. I have no idea when the final chapter will be posted, I'm currently trying to get the next chapter of Exploitation finished up.

Dean’s got a lot to think about right now – a lot to sort through. More importantly, there are things he must do. Immediately. He’s just committed murder and it’s far more important to cover up the physical evidence of his crime than it is to sort through his thoughts and feelings about what he’s done. He can’t afford any distractions right now and he knows that. But it’s still hard to turn away from his pack as they finish feeding and begin to slip into a celebratory mindset.

Dean’s witnessed this before and it’s enthralling. Much like him, the wolves seem to recognize that to take a life is to take control of one’s own fate. The pack’s motivation is simple. By taking a life, they can feed, and by feeding, they add days to their own lives. If they want to live they have to eat. It’s simple. For Dean, the issue is more complex. That’s something he’s going to have to think about later, though, because he can’t spare the time to ponder it now. But even without deeper contemplation, it seems safe to say that his decision to kill Gordon originates from the same fundamental philosophy that his wolves live by. Kill or be killed.

The actual death of Gordon Walker had only lasted a few minutes. It’s not like Dean had been checking his watch as the man had thrashed on the ground, cursing and begging in turn. But if he has to guess, Dean would say it had been five minutes or less. Once the wolves had arrived on scene, Gordon had lasted only long enough for Dean to taunt him once or twice. After the first set of teeth had sunken in, the man’s life had been measured in seconds – not minutes. After all, when more than a dozen wolves simultaneously descend on a body, each trying to tear off as big a piece as possible, major arteries don’t stand a chance. Gordon had bled out quickly once the pack had set to work on him and his agonizing screams had quickly become choking. Gasping.

Standing nearby to watch, the man’s actual death had sickened Dean. But he’d chosen to steel himself against the brutality of it rather than allow himself to feel pity for the man. After all, if he’d watched Dean with this pack for any length of time, as his words would indicate he had, he should’ve known that Dean was a powerful enemy to him. He should never have tried to corner Dean, and he certainly shouldn’t have been stupid enough to follow him over the wall.

Once Gordon was dead, the pack had fed. Brutal and bloody, the scene had been shocking to him despite having seen similar feedings on the Discovery Channel as a boy. Having watched them kill and eat a few times now, he wonders if he’ll ever get used to it. But, despite the savagery, he had lingered at the scene of his crime to watch the evidence slowly disappear.

The strongest wolves had eaten first, the older and weaker ones having to wait. Because of that natural order of progression, it had been the most formidable of his pack who had been the first to get full and trade active dismembering for lying around nearby and leisurely cleaning themselves. Licking warm blood from their muzzles and paws, they’d likely enjoyed the feeling of fullness and satisfaction that a good meal brings. But, with the urge to eat having been momentarily tempered, other latent urges had risen to top priority. Namely, the urge to fuck.

Much like Dean, these creatures seem to live by nature’s checklist. The top priority is food. After that… sex. Then there’s thirst. Sleep. A plethora of worthy pursuits can be named in succession, but the basics at the top of the list seem to be universal. Food first. Then sex. Procreation.

Inevitably, once they’ve eaten and rested for a spell, a celebratory feeling seems to swell among their number. In their world it’s kill or be killed. Maybe tomorrow they wont be so lucky. Maybe tomorrow they will be the ones who are eaten. But not today. Today they are very much alive and whether to prove it or enjoy it, perhaps both, they will let loose and fuck. Wildly.

The celebrations that his pack indulge in after a kill are shamefully carnal and obscene. To watch, even for a fleeting moment, brings a swift punch of arousal to the gut. It’s basic. Primal. And once the initial swell of it hits a man, it spreads over him - like butter melting over a hot potato.

The arousal seeps into every pore, every cell, and it builds. Witnessing it for the first time had been powerful enough to bring Dean to his knees. Back then, he’d eagerly joined his alpha amid a tangle of writhing bodies, taking part in a mass orgy the likes of which most people could never even imagine.

To pass on today’s excitement, to put the site of Gordons kill behind him and miss the chance to join his pack in a depraved, brutish, and tantalizingly carnal celebration, well, it hadn’t been easy. But he’d done it. Casting a sorrowful and repentant look at his alpha, Dean had turned to leave. The beast had followed him too, casting curious glances up at him with beseeching eyes. If it could speak at all, it would’ve asked him why… why was he leaving when he’d just fed his pack. Again. Why would he not want to take out his cock, bare his hole, join the debaucherous celebration of life that was already starting at the site of their bloody kill?

Unable to give an answer that his wolf would understand, Dean had stopped in his tracks to look his alpha in the eye. He’d given a shrug, a gesture he’d thought might convey his uncertainty. He’d tipped his head forward and let the creature sniff him, drink in the subtle mixture of all his scents. He doesn’t understand how hormones or pheromones or any of that science-y shit really works. His brother, the family smarty pants, could probably explain it to some degree. But Dean’s content not to understand it. He doesn’t have a nose like his wolf, but he knows that it allows the beast to understand things. So he’d let it explore him and drink him in, consider him, and hopefully, understand.

Then, when his blue-eyed alpha had stepped back to look him in the eye, he’d known that it was okay to leave. He could see it in the depth of those insightful eyes. Though he may not fully understand Dean’s reasons, the creature had seemed to accept that Dean had to depart. He also seemed to understand that he wasn’t meant to follow but to stay with his pack and do as he saw fit with them. It was also clear to Dean in their shared gaze, that his alpha knew he was remorseful and wished he could stay.

Even if he hadn’t known that Dean had longed to join in their celebration, that he’d wanted to consummate above all else in that moment, Dean still would’ve been given away by his stilted gait. Hard as a rock between his legs, it had been nearly impossible to walk like a human. But, with every step he took, the next had come easier.

As soon as he was physically able, Dean had begun looking for a place to climb the wall. It was always risky being out in the open away from the protection of his pack. They were, after all, just one of many that lived on the open plains of Kansas surrounding what had once been Lawrence. Dean didn’t want to meet up with any of them without his own for protection.

When the rooftops he could see over the wall had alerted him to a preferred crossing point, Dean had begun climbing. And so, now, he stands atop the wall and looks back at the snow covered grasslands one last time before descending the wall on its civilized side. Civility, he thinks, can often be overrated. With the difficult task of climbing slippery stones behind him, Dean focuses himself on what he has to do next. 

He’d been quite cautious when leaving with Gordon in the truck. Already then, he’d known what he was going to try and do. He’d not been certain of success, but he’d had a plan. Gordon’s place, located where it was, offered quite a bit of privacy. But, as they’d pulled away from it, Dean had marked one house that might’ve witnessed the two of them leaving together. And, with that house as his destination, Dean begins walking.

Covering the distance at a quick pace, tugging up his collar to block the cold wind, he marches around behind the neighborhood in question and circles far out of his way to be able to approach as if coming from Gordon’s place. He knocks on the door, rubbing his palms together in an attempt to use friction for heat. His fingers have nearly gone numb. This is why he’d been so careful to clean his knife and keep clear of the kill. He’d known he’d have to keep up appearances. If he’d returned home bloody, he would’ve had to explain Gordon’s death. Clean like he is, Dean only has to let slip that the man is missing. 

Knocking a second time, he waits quite a while before allowing himself to feel certain that the home is unoccupied. Only then does he peek in the windows. What he sees brings relief. This home is vacant and likely has been for quite some time. It seems safe at this point to assume that no one had seen him leave Gordons place in the cab of a recognizable vehicle. By dropping the whiskey flask in the cab, he’d created an excuse to duck down as they’d passed the only other humans he’d seen on his way to kill Gordon. So, at this point, Dean feels emboldened to continue executing his loosely plotted plan.

Gordon Walker had been a section leader and his disappearance is going to be a big deal. Dean tries to brace himself for what is to come as he returns to Gordon’s garage. When he enters, he finds that the fire they’d left burning is still lit. Smoking near an open window in the back of the space, it had kept the place warm in his absence. Taking off his jacket and hanging it by the door, Dean approaches the steel drum and pushes his hands toward the heat source. Its burning low now, untended for quite some time, but the fact that it hasn’t been extinguished is a good sign. If Gordon’s father had come into the space and seen precious firewood being wasted with no one around to need its warmth, he’d have put it out. Of that, Dean is certain. Much like his own father, Gordon’s would’ve cursed under his breath as he put out the fire and then harangued his son for wasting resources as soon as he saw him.

So far, luck seems to be with him. Taking a deep breath and letting it go, he relaxes a bit. Right now, his only job is to wait around for Mr. Walker to return home. He’s got no idea where the man may have gone or when he’ll return. Looking around, he sees a nearby crate and decides to pull it over so he’ll have a place to sit as he continues warming by the fire.

Getting comfortable, he sinks into his own thoughts. He’s done plenty of killing in his life so nothing he’s done today is jarring for Dean. But, he’s not under any delusions about the marginal defensibility of his actions.

He hadn’t killed to protect himself or to feed himself; he’d killed only because he wanted to, because it made his life easier. That, Dean thinks, is probably the defining characteristic that makes Gordon’s death a murder… the fact that it was unnecessary. He’s not sorry he did it. Perhaps one day he will be, but not now. Not yet.

With his thoughts and feelings on his crime becoming clear, Dean’s mind wanders away from the subject. He begins thinking of his pack and its leader, his alpha. Dean’s been drawn to him from the start. It’s not like he’d laid around daydreaming about sex with wolves and then snuck out under the full moon to give it a try. He’d never even imagined such a thing until it had actually happened. But, without a doubt, he’s into it now. The thing that defies his understanding is _why_.

The alpha is the reason, of that much he’s sure. Something about the creature just calls to him. It pulls him, almost like a physical tether. The moment he’d seen that wolf for the first time, he’d wanted a closer look. The closer he’d gotten, the closer he wanted to be. The moment the creature was in reach, Dean had wanted to touch. And, based on the wolf’s reaction to Dean’s outstretched hand that night, he’d clearly felt the same.

Returning to the wolf a second time had been difficult for Dean because, unlike the first time, he’d known exactly what would happen. But, to say that he’d returned to the pack just to fuck a wolf would be quite a stretch. If that were all he’d wanted, then it wouldn’t have mattered which wolf – or even which pack. But it matters. Yeah, it fucking matters.

Though he and his wolf clearly share a strong desire for sex, and rough sex at that, it isn’t the only thing that bonds them. Sometimes, when his alpha looks at him, he can practically hear its voice in head. Maybe that’s simply because the creature’s eyes are expressive enough to convey thoughts and feelings. Or, maybe there’s more to it than that. But, the longer they are together, the better they communicate. In fact, lately he’s been feeling inclined to give his furry mate a name.

Dean hesitates on the name thing for a few reasons. First of all, to name something is to take ownership of it. A pet. A child. These are things that get named. For that reason among others, Dean hesitates to do it. After all, the moment we give a thing a name, we accept responsibility for it. It becomes ours. Following that line of thinking leads to the next reason that it seems strange to name his wolf… can it be his? Can he own something so wild? Something so dominant?

Honestly, it’s easier to think of the wolf as owning him than it is to think of him owning the wolf. By those standards perhaps the alpha should name him. But that would never happen because wolves have no need of names. Names are a human construct. The wolves know one another by their unique scent, the sound of their call. There’s no need for names.

But Dean is a human and humans use names. Just to pass the time as he waits for Mr. Walker, Dean decides to consider some. Warm enough now, he scoots back a bit from the fire and sinks into the naming game. Soon he’s laughing aloud at some of the stuff that pops into his head… especially when he pictures himself telling the wolf its name. No doubt his alpha’s eyes would betray a distaste for most of the ones he’s coming up with.

The real issue in choosing one, he finds, is that he tends to try and settle on a name that’s descriptive. But, by his very nature, the alpha defies categorization. He’s arrogant, that’s for sure. But he’s also benevolent; kind. He’s adventurous, but he’s not a loner. He likes to cuddle, but much like Dean he’d be loath to admit it.

Cute names, like those one would give a pet, only work when thinking of the times that he and the wolf have curled up together - names like Buddy or Cubby. Yeah, Cubby like cub. Like a frickin’ bear cub. So what if he likes that one? No one has to know.

The name Buddy seems okay to him as long as he doesn’t think about saying it aloud to his wolf. He’s actually referred to his alpha as Buddy in real life, so it’s not a stretch. But then again, the one time he’d actually called his alpha ‘Buddy’ it had responded by shoving its cock into him twice as deep as ever before. It was almost as though the wolf had thought, “Buddy? I’ll show you Buddy. Here – how bout I give you the other nine inches of cock, huh? I’ve been holding back so I wouldn’t hurt ya but if you wanna feel all of me then here ya go. Wanna see if my dick can go in through your asshole and out through your mouth? Do ya? Call me Buddy one more fucking time.”

Yeah, his alpha is bad ass. Bad. Ass. Thinking of his Ware in that context, Dean considers a few other names, but nothing that really seems plausible. Other names, more majestic ones, seem to suit the animal until Dean pictures himself using them. Eventually he gives up. It’s a lost cause. Suddenly realizing that he’s been pacing around the garage for the past few minutes, Dean decides that it’s time to do something.

He’d been planning to wait for Mr. Walker and upon his arrival tell the man that they’d been working on the truck and that Gordon had taken it for a test drive to see how it would run. Explaining that he’d never come back, Dean could express concern about the whereabouts of his ‘friend’ and suggest they go look for him.

Dean knew that any search party going out would find the missing truck within an hour. Let them think what they wanted about why Gordon may have parked where he had. The location Dean had suggested is near enough to the shopping the shopping center and a manned gate that one could make any number of plausible guesses as to what Gordon might’ve been thinking when he’d left his vehicle there. Not one of them would include Gordon scaling the wall and heading out into the wilderness alone and unarmed.

Dean doesn’t have a watch on him but he’s certain that it’s well past lunch. If things had gone down the way he plans to say they did, this is as long as he would’ve waited before taking action. With Mr. Walker having not returned yet, Dean does what he knows he would’ve done in the scenario playing out in his head. He walks home.

Pushing through his own front door, Dean calls out for his father and Bobby as he walks briskly into the living room. Neither is where he left them, but that makes sense. He’s been gone for hours. His mother is home now, calling to him from the kitchen. “They aren’t here,” she hollers. “They went down to Missouri’s place to trade for some soap. Are you hungry? Want some lunch?”

“No thanks,” he tells her, stepping into the kitchen. Sam is at the table with her and the two of them appear to be deboning a turkey. “Maybe later though,” he adds, the scent of food hitting his empty stomach.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” she asks, seeming to pick up on the urgency with which he’s purposefully carrying himself.

“Oh, it’s probably nothing,” he says, imitating what he thinks he’d sound like if this were all really happening. “I just was over at Gordon’s place helping with his truck. He took it out for a test drive and never came back. I figure he’s stalled out somewhere. I’m thinkin’ we should go round him up, it’s been at least two hours and it ain’t getting’ any warmer out there.”

“Well,” she says, her brow furrowing as she considers his situation, “you’ll probably need the truck. I mean, if he’s broken down somewhere you’ll have to tow him back. But your dad took it. The Impala’s in the garage if you want to just take that and go look for Gordon? When you’ve found him you can come back here. Your dad and Bobby should be back by then. You guys can all go together to bring Gordon’s truck home. ”

“Fair enough,” he says, secretly loving that he’ll get to take the car out. “Hope it starts.”

“It’ll start,” she says confidently. “You sure you don’t want something to eat before you go?”

He does. He’s hungry. “Better not,” he tells her, already walking away. “I’ll see ya when we get back.”

“Hey Dean,” yells Sammy from behind him, “can I come with you?”

“Nah, stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Their part of town, their section, is really not that big when behind the wheel of a car. Even if he didn’t know exactly where Gordon’s truck was parked, tracking it down wouldn’t have been a time consuming thing. He grabs the keys to the Impala, his dads pride and joy. His mother is right – the car starts right up. Easing it out onto the street, he takes it slow because he knows how slippery everything is. Plus, it’s been snowing all morning. Since the roads haven’t received any maintenance in years, they’re riddled with huge cracks and potholes. Driving is hazardous enough when there’s not a few inches of fresh powder hiding potential problems. Besides, this isn’t a pick-up truck he’s driving. It’s his father’s vintage ’67 Impala.

For authenticity, Dean makes sure to do things exactly the way he’d do them if Gordon was actually missing. So, he heads straight back to the Walkers. After checking the place and finding that Mr. Walker is still not home, Dean begins driving up and down the streets systematically moving from East to West. If this was real, he’d be enjoying himself right now. So, Dean goes ahead and cranks up the cassette player. There was already an AC/DC tape in it, so he lets it play and sings along.

When he finally arrives at the rusty truck, he finds it covered in a layer of new snow. Leaving his own vehicle idling in the street, Dean gets out. There are footprints in the snow approaching from the South and circling the vehicle before looping back the way they’d come. Letting his eyes follow the path of the prints, Dean thinks this is almost too perfect. He climbs back in the car and drives down to the end of the block. The prints hook around the corner, as he’d suspected they would, leading him to the gate where armed militia members stand guard.

Pulling up to them slowly, Dean rolls down his window and turns down his music. “Hey there,” he greets. There are three men standing in a small cluster around a fifty gallon steel drum. It looks exactly like the one in Gordon’s garage, sitting up on cement blocks so that the ashes can fall from the bottom and be easily hauled away. There are hundreds of these around their little community, as common in this apocalyptic life as HVAC systems were in the previous one. The men are familiar to him but he only knows one of them well. “Heya Dean,” greets Garth. “That’s a sweet ride.”

“Yeah,” he grins, not even having to lie when he says, “Any excuse to get this ol’ girl outta the garage makes for a damned good day.” Then, because he knows he needs to play it cool, he adds, “Where’s Gordon?”

“Dunno,” answers Cole, one of those on duty that he doesn’t know well. “Didn’t know it was my day to babysit.”

“Well,” says Dean, speaking to all three now, “looks like his truck stalled out a block over. I followed his footprints here, so he must be around.”

“Oh,” says Cole with a nod, “I didn’t realize that was Walker’s truck. I came around the corner about an hour ago and saw a truck parked down the street that hadn’t been there this morning. I walked over to check it out. Keys were in it, but I didn’t see anybody.”

Dean watches the guy shrug. It’s understandable. There are lots of vehicles around, but they’re familiar. Most have been sitting in the same spot for years – abandoned wherever they broke down. You get used to walking past them after a while, like the buildings, they’re just there. So, when a vehicle just shows up out of nowhere amid the ones you’re used to seeing, yeah, you notice it. In response to Cole, Dean says, “Oh, those must’ve been your footprints, then. I’d just figured they were his. Wonder where the fuck he went.”

“What was he even doing out today?” asks Garth. “If it weren’t for being on duty, I never would’ve left the house.”

“We were workin’ on the truck,” Dean answers, the conversation following exactly the path he’d hoped it would. “He was havin’ issues with the ignition and came by this mornin’ to see if I could give him a hand with it. Once we got it goin’ he took it out for a test run, but man, that was hours ago now. When he didn’t come back, I figured I better come lookin’. Like I said,” he tacks on the end, “any excuse to get this outta the garage, right?”

“That’s true enough,” Garth smiles. “But you need some Bel Biv Devoe to play while you’re ridin’ around instead of listening to your dads stuff.”

“Nobody listens to that MC Hammer shit you like, Garth. That stuff was cool for five minutes, twenty years ago.”

“Whatever you say Hombre,” chuckles Garth, his face conveying a general disagreement with Dean’s assessment, but also a lack of interest in further discussion with someone who doesn’t share his musical tastes. “If we see Gordon we’ll tell him you’re out lookin’ for him.”

“Thanks,” Dean answers, giving the others a cursory nod as he slowly pulls away. Then, he heads for home.

As it turns out, his mother was right. By the time Dean gets back, his father and Bobby are home. Relaying the events of the day to them as rehearsed in his head, Dean waits to hear what they recommend. From here on out, all he has to do is go along with whatever they say. So long as he keeps his answers short and consistent, he shouldn’t have any further issues.

His dad, it turns out, knows where to find Mr. Walker. The three of them head over to Jean’s. It’s a store. Well, it’s a house. But, if you go in through the back, you can buy stuff. Bathtub gin is the house specialty and for the right price, Jean has some friends upstairs that will show a man a good time. Dean’s never been in here before, but he’s heard of the place. Now that he’s considered one of the grown men, his father no longer seems inclined to hide this place, or what it really is. A whorehouse.

Thankfully, Mr. Walker is found drunk and playing poker rather than behind a closed door upstairs. Dean can’t help looking around though, taking note of who is here and what they’re doing. He waits quietly as his dad explains the situation to Walker. The man doesn’t say much, he just folds his hand and gets up to follow them out.

Sure, it’s a little weird to see a place like this be so busy in the middle of the afternoon, but days like today when the weather keeps men from working, there’s not much else to do. It’s not like people can just sit home and watch television anymore. As they’re walking out, however, Dean quietly has a revelation. He puts two and two together… his father’s easy familiarity with Jean and her customers and the fact that he brought Dean in here so matter-of-factly. His dad, he suddenly realizes, is a regular here too. Ugh. There are some things he’d rather not know.

After leaving Jeans place, they make a quick stop at Gordons truck. The men walk around it once, peer inside. They don’t say much. They visit briefly with the men on duty guarding the gate, but the shift has changed since Dean was here and the new guys haven’t seen Gordon. They agree that the circumstances warrant investigation and one runs down the street to grab man in charge – the area supervisor. He’s in charge off their section and two others. There are only three of these guys in the world. Well, the known world anyway, which at the present time is confined to Lawrence, Kansas.

Back when the wall was first built, it had been part of a quarantine effort. All citizens who had survived the initial wave of the pandemic were encouraged to be tested. If one passed, they were granted access to the small plot of land contained within the safety of the wall. Wares had become a problem at that time and their bite was rumored to carry the infection. That had later proven false, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still fearful monsters. Huge and far more aggressive than regular wolves, people hadn’t needed much coaxing to fear them.

With the population decimated by ‘the new plague’, there had been plenty of empty homes within the security of the wall and if a person passed the test, they were assigned an address which would be their new home. Just by coincidence, the Winchesters had already lived here. There were two other areas protected by walls and both were adjacent, connected by gates. Yes, citizens could pass from one to the next, but not without reason and not without permission.

When it was determined that a search party was needed to look for Gordon, Dean stood back and watched the militia in action. The gates were all locked down immediately in an effort to be sure that once the search of an area had been deemed complete, there could be no question of anyone having moved from one section to another.

As he watched the situation being handled, it was obvious to Dean that although no one was saying so aloud, foul play was already being considered a possibility. He tried not to let it bother him, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit apprehensive. After all, even in the old days, people waited twenty four hours before assuming the worst. Then again, Gordon wasn’t someone who was well liked in the community. So, maybe the men in charge were just betting the odds.

The search went on into the night, but not for Dean. Since he and Gordon weren’t close, there was no expectation that he be out frantically looking for the man. It’s not like he’d lost his brother or best friend. Once home, his family had sat down for dinner like it was any other night. The conversation had focused on Gordon’s situation for a time, sure, but mostly just in response to questions from those who hadn’t spent the day looking for him. Like Sammy.

Thankfully, Dean’s younger brother was far more interested in talking about Jessica Moore, the niece of Mildred the widow who lived down the block. To hear Sam tell it, she’s a genius at Rummy and has a smile that lights up the room. To say the kid might have a bit of a crush is the understatement of the year.

When his pack call to him from nearby, he does his best not to react, as always. The others also have a vested interest in pretending not to notice the howling, because they don’t want little Sammy to be afraid. Tonight, sadly, Dean can’t sneak out. If there was ever a time when he might be caught, this is it. There are search parties out and it’s only a matter of time before they decide to start looking outside the wall. Once they do, they won’t have to look far before finding the site of Gordons bloody death.

The man had died less than a mile from his truck. Thinking things over carefully as he lays awake in bed, Dean decides that if the search parties begin looking outside the wall, they’ll find Gordon the very first day or not at all. It really doesn’t matter to him either way. What matters to Dean is only that he avoids suspicion of murder and after today it would seem he’s done that. After all, Gordon had come to him. Bobby had been there when it happened. No one had seen him with Gordon at the kill site and no one has any reason to suspect him. He, in fact, had been the one to say the man was missing and instigate a search.

When he’d crawled into bed that night, Dean had expected to suffer a sleepless night because of all that had happened. Surprisingly though, he didn’t lay awake long at all. He isn’t carrying a lot of guilt for having killed Gordon, and he’s no longer too fearful of being caught either. So, really, the only thing that really loses him any sleep is hearing his pack call and being frustrated that he can’t answer them.

In the morning he goes with his father and his uncle to join another search party. They’re assigned to a heavily wooded area in an adjacent community that Dean’s never really been to before. The area they’re searching boarders the wall between sections. They’re nowhere near the place where Dean last saw Gordon Walker, but they aren’t very far from where his truck had been ‘found’.

Stretching out in a long line, they spread over the area like a blanket so as not to miss an inch. Dean understands immediately what’s happening. They’re no longer looking for someone who’s alive and can answer when they call for him. They’re looking for a body.

For three solid days, all anyone seems to talk about is Gordon Walker. On the fourth day, the gossip is that he’s been found. On the sixth day, Dean attends his memorial. Dean lets two more days go by before putting the entire saga out of his mind completely.

Then, that night, he finally gets laid again.

Venturing out on a night with almost no visible moon isn’t exactly promising. But he’s dying to see his alpha. It’s been far too long. A day is too long.

Knowing he might be on his own for a while before finding his pack, Dean takes a pistol with him. Sneaking over the wall and out onto the plain, he starts whistling as soon as he’s far enough from civilian homes to not be heard. Tonight the tune is Misty Mountain Hop. He hikes for at least ten minutes before hearing the first answering howl and that seems to indicate his furry friends had been quite far away. Cresting a rise, Dean catches movement in his peripheral vision on the left. Immediately he draws the weapon, relieved to have it. Whatever’s moving out there in the dark is no friend of his. If it were, it would’ve announced itself.

On full alert now, Dean slows his pace and begins sweeping his gaze a full three hundred and sixty degrees every few steps. The next familiar howl he hears is much closer and instinctually he changes the direction he’s walking so as to intercept. On a hill to his left, Dean sees two familiar shapes. They are the number two and three wolves in the pack and they stand at attention. They’re barely visible to him but he can tell they’re watching him, tracking his progress.

Still whistling, he resumes a visual sweep of the ground around him, knowing that if he’s attacked, he’ll need all the reaction time he can get. He walks another tenth of a mile or so before two muted lights appear from the darkness ahead. Eyes. Vapor blue, reflecting what little moonlight there is tonight. His alpha. His Cubby-cub. His Badass.

“Thank fuck,” he mumbles as the two close the distance between them. Relaxing now, Dean trusts the wolf and his keen senses to protect him from whatever has been stealthily tailing him through the dark. He doesn’t think twice about trusting his life to the wolf. Tucking his gun away, he focuses only on the eyes until he’s close enough to see the animal’s entire form striding nearer.

Then, when he’s close enough, he extends an open palm. A soft muzzle presses into it and all of a sudden, everything is as it should be. They share a moment, both breathing deeply as if mutually content just to be reunited. Then, the wolf lifts his head to look past Dean. His eyes scan the open grounds around them, no doubt seeing much that Dean does not. Then, clearly satisfied that nothing nearby presents a genuine threat, the wolf turns from him and walks away. It’s leading him somewhere and Dean follows without question.

He keeps pace, not walking next to his mate’s head but rather at his shoulder. He does the same when he travels and hunts with the pack, consciously deferring leadership to his companion. If he were a wolf, he’d probably have to fight for this coveted position. The second and third in the pack would defend their own status against him violently. But, probably only because he’s human, his place at the side of their alpha isn’t questioned. He doesn’t have to earn it.

Covering quite a bit of ground, they hike for another ten minutes or so. It feels like they’re headed for the overlook where Dean had first seen other pack members watching his approach. As he and his mate draw nearer to that hilly rise, he can faintly make out the landscape underfoot.

When they do reach the base of the hill, they don’t climb. Instead, the two waiting wolves join them, exchanging cursory touches of nose in much the same way that friends might thump one another on the back or bump elbows as they begin walking together. Dean follows quietly.

A few paces ahead, there is void of blackness that seems to swallow up the wolves. Following his alpha, Dean takes cautious steps as his eyes search the pitch black for any discernable shape. He feels a change in the air and some unnamable instinct tells him that there’s something overhead. Slowing his pace, Dean reaches out in front of him to feel the way. His hand finds nothing until a sweep of his arm brings it into contact with something hard and unforgiving overhead. It’s rock. A cave, his mind supplies in explanation. It’s a cave. Understanding now, he feels better about following his alpha and pack mates into the darkness.

Entering, Dean hasn’t just lost sight of the sky and stars and what little light there had been. He’s lost the breeze too. The air isn’t completely still, but rather than blowing consistently from one direction it churns around him relation to the movements of his canine companions.

It _feels_ different in here. Not only is it quite a bit warmer inside that it was out in the open, it smells like his wolves. The rock overhead continues to press down on him as they venture deeper inside and he has to crouch down. When the air and sound change again, Dean recognizes that the tunnel they’ve been following has opened up into a cavern. Though he’s got no idea how high the ceiling might be at the center or what the space might measure in diameter, he knows it’s large enough to bed the entire pack because they’re here. Dean can sense them.

Snuffles echo, bouncing between the walls around him. There are other subtle sounds too – animals breathing, the shifting of fur and paws on the cave floor as they adjust body position. Still hunched low to the ground, he stumbles when his foot connects with a warm, furry body. Dean reaches out to touch, trusting that the animal he’s jostled can tell he’s all but blind in here. He feels its nose at his cheek, a greeting, and then the animal adjusts to make room for him. He settles down on the hard floor, surprised by how warm it is.

When prompted from behind with the shove of head, Dean gets his knees under him and shuffles forward, pushing in amongst the bodies. They shift to adjust and allow him space. He’s clearly welcome here, he can feel it. In fact, his pack mates are happy to see him. Dean can tell because all around him is a sudden burst of activity – a happy thumping of tails. It may as well be twenty dudes all greeting him like he’s Norm from Cheers.

The floor of this small cavern is wall to wall wolves and Dean can’t help but smile as he curls up in the midst of them. It only takes a few breaths for the flurry of welcome to die down, the critters all falling silent again as they curl back up to sleep. But, the area around him isn’t still for long. From behind, Dean feels a nudge. There’s a familiar snuffle. Then, another nudge, right on the seat of his pants. He’s literally sandwiched between wolves, one on either side of him. One ahead of him too. He couldn’t move deeper into the cave if he wanted to. The wolf nudging him behind should know this. After all, it can see in the dark far better than he.

Another nudge. It’s insistent. Well placed. Dead center over his asshole as if it were a bullseye. He’s wearing thick denim blue jeans but that doesn’t keep him from easily identifying the nose of his alpha when it comes in again to persistently press into his backside. Another aggressive nudge. There’s no denying what’s being requested right now and Dean’s mouth is suddenly watering for it.

Chuckling in the dark, he speaks aloud, turning his head to aim the words over his shoulder at the hungry wolf behind him. “What, here?” The answering nudge is more of a shove. Dean’s grinning ear to ear like a kid with a dirty secret. It’s nice to know he’s not the only one who’s been needy for the other during their long days apart. He arches his back and presses into the snout at his rear. It’s a filthy invitation to his alpha wolf. “Aw’right then,” he whispers. “Come ‘n get some.”

Dean can feel it when the animal rises up on all fours to loom over him, its warmth and the sounds of its movements betraying the wolf’s position. His hands twitch, instinct telling him to hurry up and get his ass bared for a fucking. But, still grinning, he decides to wait and see what will happen if he does nothing.

A nose. That’s what happens. A cold, moist nose gently touches to the small of his back. Whisper soft, it moves forward, whiskers tickling the skin on both sides of Dean’s spine as his wolf pushes its muzzle up under his shirt. Already chubbing up between his legs, Dean wriggles around to find a comfortable position. Pulling his knees up under him, he’s secretly glad for the thick jeans he’s wearing. At least there’s thick material between his knees and the gritty hard floor of the cave. For now, he rests his weight on his haunches as he waits to see what his big, bad wolf will do to further encourage him towards sex.

Dean stays still, playing hard to get with his arms tucked neatly under his chest and his head resting on the rump of the wolf ahead of him. The atmosphere within the cave had been peaceful but now it’s expectant. He’s clearly not the only one aware of their alpha’s intentions to mount Dean in the midst of the pack and they are far from silent around him. There is near constant movement, a barely perceptible shifting of bodies, soft snuffles and chuffs from all around. Surprisingly, as his own eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, he finds that he can see a few sets of eyes blinking over at him. They’re barely perceptible to him, but he’s glad to be able to at least see something. Anything.

Standing over him now, Dean can feel his Ware looming. Its nose is still tracing the contours of his back and the feeling is so sensual that he shivers with delight. The wolf inhales deeply, as if enjoying Dean’s scent. Then, when it can shove its nose no farther up his shirt, it moves to his neck. “Yes,” he whispers, instinctually moving to bare his throat. It’s an invitation and his wolf takes it.

Dean sucks in a ragged breath as it happens, the sharp tip of canine incisors pressing down. His skin remains unbroken, but the pressure behind the teeth combined with the hot breath on his neck have sent a shockwave of raw, carnal excitement through Dean. Down inside his jeans, he feels a pulse of warmth seep from the tip of his cock. A moment later, he registers a change in his alpha as the beast smells it, smells the leaked pre-come.

The mood around him seems to change with a snap. Around him, the restless animals begin to anticipate a fucking – they seem to feel it coming. Dean can feel it too and the anticipation makes his head swim like he’s drunk. From over Dean’s curled body, the beast growls hungrily. If it could speak, Dean’s wolf would’ve been warning him that he’s asking for it… that playing hard to get is going to draw aggression… that this is about to get rough.

Dean’s mind whisks him back to a memory – another time when he’d teased his bad ass wolf. The creature had put him in his place without hesitation. He’d shoved Dean down in the snow and shown him how big his cock really was, forced it into him so deep he’d nearly passed out as he’d tried to take it. That day had been the first time he’d ever really screamed during sex. He’d flippantly referred to his wolf as ‘Buddy’ and wound up being taught a lesson. It had been painful but still one of the single most enthralling and lascivious experiences of his life. No fantasy or wet dream had ever been so obscene as to compare with how it had felt to take _every single inch_ of a cock that nature had never intended to penetrate a sixteen year old human boy.

Remembering the moment now, Dean thinks of what kind of reaction he’s prompting from his alpha with his continued haughtiness. Unable to communicate as effectively with growls as his wolf does, Dean responds the only way he can. With words. “Betcha think I can’t take it, right?” he challenges. “Well fuckin’ bring it.”

His wolf might not understand Dean’s words, but the tone of voice is undeniable and he knows his verbal arrow has hit its mark when his Ware answers with a menacing growl. He can feel the other wolves watching and knows they are stunned by his insolence. Licking their lips and craning their necks, the group watch eagerly to see what punishment will be meted out by their leader.

In the space of a heartbeat, the sharp teeth are gone from Dean’s neck and relocated near the small of his back. He feels the moist nose, the whiskers, and then a scrape of teeth. Then there’s a violent tug. Dean’s body jerks like a rag doll and is shaken. Dear god, the wolf has Dean’s jeans between his teeth and he’s hell bent on ripping them off. He’s growling like a rabid dog and, again, Dean feels his ass end being lifted from the ground, his weight tossed around like it’s nothing.

His arms flail as he tries to restore balance. His upper body doesn’t come too far off the floor, but his lower half is hoisted high in the air. He’s literally being hauled up by his ass and shaken around as the beast who wants to breed him tries to physically tear his jeans from his body.

Apparently frustrated with the strength of denim, it growls again and continues to tug even after Dean’s back on the ground. The animal violently shakes its head back and forth with the seat of Dean’s pants between its teeth and, fuck it all, this is the single most obscene thing that’s ever happened to him. Ever. He loves the feeling of power that comes with having driven this beast so mad with lust. He’s never felt so completely and totally dominated before, so owned. He’s half a second away from coming in his pants.

Feeling like he’ll die if he isn’t immediately fucked, Dean feverishly swipes his hands back and thrashes around as he tries to get his button and zipper undone. His wolf is still tugging violently and there’s an uncoordinated tangle of hands and paws and teeth trying to get Dean out of his pants. 

Then, it’s done. His cheeks are bared and he’s just trying to get his knees under him again. Around him the others growl, probably because they can see something he can’t… a huge lumbering beast with a cock that’s at least a foot long and fully erect, lining up behind Dean to take what it wants from him.

A shiver snakes up his spine, a mixture of fear and excitement that he’s always loved. He does his best to shove his jeans a little lower, but in the end he leaves them tightly hugging his thighs as he holds a ready position - because he can’t last another goddam second without a cock in his ass. In fact, he wants more than just to be penetrated. He wants to feel the hungry wolf literally forcing itself upon him. He's more than ready for the moment of penetration; doesn’t think he even needs a swipe from the wet tongue.

Thankfully, the beast licks into him anyway. As if all is forgiven now that Dean’s presenting a hole to fuck, the beast lowers his head and rolls that long tongue up his crack. It’s not gentle, it’s urgent. Eager. Wide and powerful, it rolls over his clenching bud a few times and then, for the love of all that’s holy, it pushes inside of him. Goes deep.

Dean hates the whimper that slips from his open mouth as feels his rim widen around that salacious tongue. Suddenly changing his mind about his jeans, Dean begins scrambling to get out of them. He might die of lust and he’s never felt so desperate to get naked or so challenged in getting out of his clothes and _why the fuck can’t he untangle his legs from his jeans?_ Fuck. That tongue. “Fuck,” he grunts aloud. Then louder, “Ho-ly fuck. Yeah, like that.”

He’s never felt anything quite like this – just being _filled_ with tongue. It spreads him, pushes in and pulls back out. There are teeth near his hole and for as much as he’s always longed to be bitten hard, Deans punchdrunk and hovering on the edge of blacking out as he wonders if his alpha might give a nip to the tender clenching flesh he’s offering. Gulping one deep breath after another, he’s greedy for air. Greedy for tongue. Greedy for cock. “Need you,” he calls out. And it’s true. He’s never needed anything the way he needs this wolf.

He groans unapologetically as he feels that wickedly talented tongue pull out of him. It must go on for miles, that tongue, it’s so damned long. The moment it’s withdrawn, Dean’s begging aloud. With tears wetting the corners of his eyes, he preens his needy ass in the air and begs for it to be filled. “Need you,” he whispers again. “Need you. Need. You.”

The other wolves commiserate with him, their soft whines echoing through the cavern as they watch him writhe, empty and longing with his ass pushing upward towards his alpha in desperation. When they return to growling, Dean knows it’s finally going to happen. There’s a single moment of stillness when the rounded tip of a moist cock presses to his hole and then the beast plunges inside.

Dean screams loudly as his hole is violently speared open, experiencing both pain and relief at exactly the same time. His fingers clench at the hard ground under him and his knees scrape across the rock as they spread wider under the weight bearing down on him. A hot breath gusts over the back of his neck and he feels sharp canine incisors come to rest on the soft skin there as he's brutally impaled. On his naked back, Dean feels soft fur and warm belly settle over him and he groans as his rim is spread wider and wider. His Ware isn’t even fully seated yet, but Dean can’t help it. He blows his load right then, spurting hot jizz onto the stone floor of the cave between his spread knees. 

“Aw fuck,” he moans, weaker now that he's come and trying not to crumple as the heavy mounting continues. The effort of keeping himself prone for the wolf is monumental, every muscle in his body straining to support the weight of the heavy animal on his back. The last of his load is still dribbling from his tip and Dean thinks he must be a sight - still tangled up in his jeans, shirt rucked up around his neck, sweating now and still wedged in between other wolves as he struggles to keep his ass pushed up for the alpha.

Having come already, Dean's body wants to go limp. Piled in a heap with his lower half still buzzing, he takes a deep breath as he realizes that his partner has only just started. He grits his teeth and does his best to keep his torso at the right angle as his alpha comes to be fully seated within him.

Dean can barely breathe when stuffed this full. Seeing stars in the dark, he tries to focus on the heavy panting at his neck, the pressure of the teeth, and the all-consuming fullness that comes with being impaled on this gift of a cock. When the wolf begins to thrust, it’s surprisingly gentle. But, he doesn’t back off to give thrusts that only feel deep and actually quite shallow in comparison to his length. No. He gives Dean all of it, rolling his haunches forward in easy, circular motions. The other wolves pant lustfully around him, part of the act even if only in spirit.

The slow, comfortable screw lasts for quite some time and Dean’s surprised to find himself thinking that it’s like making love with a giant teddy bear. The wolf takes its time with him, practically humping in slow motion. He's seated deeply enough that, for Dean, the beasts cock almost feels like it's part of his own body. The two go on together for a very long time - long enough for Dean’s body to rally.

His cock fills again. His lust surges. Still impaled, Dean feels his wolf register the change in him. In response, the cock he’s riding swells impossibly larger and literally locks the two of them together for the wolf’s climax.

Dean also swells larger, the tip of his penis now starting to bump the floor intermittently. Each thump that his crown absorbs sends a pulse of pleasure up his shaft and into his ball sack. It builds and builds until he comes again, screaming wantonly as he blows his load for the second time. A moment later, he’s pinned down under the weight of his wolf when it follows him over the edge, locking its position over Dean’s back to empty it’s spend into him.

Dean whispers softly to his beast in the aftermath while their bodies remain joined, soft words the likes of which he can only seem to say when wrapped in the warmth of afterglow. With its weight still suspended over his back, warm and furry, Dean feels a bitter sadness wash over him when the creatures cock finally shrinks enough to slip out of him. Left empty, he’s yearning for more already and they’ve only just finished.

Then, there’s a nose in his hair. It roots around and inhales deeply, clearly enjoying his scent and wanting more of it. Dean’s sadness is chased away by the reassuring presence of his alpha. It lets out a strange and contended nickering sound as it lays its head down next to Deans, both of them resting on the furry back of an adjacent wolf as if it were a giant pillow. Laying there with his pack, tucked in with his alpha, Dean drifts in a cloudy state somewhere between waking and sleeping. He thinks of the savagery with which he’s been fucked by this beast and how much he likes it. He’s starting to see now that it’s not so much violence as it is urgency. Need.

In this strange and contemplative moment, he suddenly realizes that it’s the need he responds so readily too… that’s what he loves about a rough fuck. It’s primal. Straight forward and honest. Sometimes selfish, sometimes even painful. But it’s the conveyance of a need that demands to be sated and Dean fucking loves to be the one to have inspired such intense need and desire.

So, yeah, he’s into it. He’s not going anywhere. He sure as shit isn’t going to trade in what he has with his wolf just for the domesticity and normalcy of a regular human life. He’s got zero interest in busting his ass every day just to come home and kiss some girls cheek. Honestly, he doesn’t even care about the presumed duty of repopulating this empty planet. Hell, so far as he can tell, the world looks far better in the places that humans haven’t touched.

Dean’s got no idea how long he’s been sleeping when he’s roused, his canine lover sniffing around and clearly interested in initiating round two. But, he smiles as he lays there amid the others and lets the alpha earn his second helping with that sinful tongue. Dean doesn’t raise his ass into the air until he’s beyond ready – once more having been tongued until he’s wet and slippery.

Still loose and pliant from his last fucking, Dean takes himself in hand and jerks off as he’s heavily mounted from behind. From nearby he can hear a few other wolves around him also mating. The mood, it would seem, is catching. After that, they all fall asleep again and no one stirs until sunlight intrudes. From the mouth of their cave it creeps in to wake the group. Birdsong echoes in the cavernous space and though he’d like to linger longer, Dean knows it’s time for him to go. Past time.

The group stretch and yawn, greet one another warmly with gentle flicks of tongue and touches of nose. Now that there’s some light, Dean gets his first real look around the cave. Clearly this is home for his pack, likely the very place they’d spent the night during the ice storm that had precluded Gordon Walkers demise.

Emerging from the den, Dean heads back towards Lawrence. It’s a long way and the pack stay with him until the wall is in sight and then they stay still and watch him go. All except one. Keeping pace beside him, his alpha watches him with sidelong glances as they walk and Dean wonders if perhaps he’d thought that Dean would no longer be going home anymore. The idea tugs at his heart a little.

“Sorry,” he says. His voice is husky when he speaks and that’s when he realizes that he must’ve screamed a lot last night. “Epic night,” he adds, glancing over at his Ware. “Let’s do it again soon.” The beast seems to understand because he stops and sits down calmly on his haunches to watch as Dean walks away from him. Turning back when he reaches the base of the wall, Dean gives his wolf a nod. Their gaze holds for a long moment and then, Dean’s left standing and looking after the dark wolf as it leaves. He smiles warmly. “How very ‘alpha’ of you,” he chuckles, mostly to himself. “Leave, don’t get left.”

With nothing left to do but go home, Dean scales the wall. But, for the first time, he doesn’t sneak back in. It’s too late for that. The sun’s been up for quite some time. Walking the long way around the property, Dean tidies his clothes and then walks in through the front door.

No one says anything that first morning when he comes in after sunrise. His mother seems curious, but doesn’t ask. His father and Bobby share a look, but also don’t ask. Based on the demeanor of the older men, it would seem that they assume he’s been out getting laid. They’re not wrong. But, since they seem unconcerned, they are probably imaging Dean as having had a far different kind of night from the one he really had.

He goes out with the men that day to chop wood and distribute it between the homes of those who’ve helped. Then he eats supper with the family. But, breaking with a pattern he’s spent over a year cultivating, Dean doesn’t go to bed like a good son and then sneak out when everyone else has gone to sleep. Instead, he arms himself and bids them farewell as if he’s going out. They probably assume he’s going off to meet whichever girl he’d spent last night with, and honestly, Dean sees no harm in letting them believe it.

Letting the adults whisper about him seems harmless enough for now. They can speculate about who the future Mrs. Winchester will be and try to be patient as they wait to be introduced. As long as this continues, Dean figures he’ll at least get a reprieve from all the sneaking around.

As days stretch into weeks, Dean enjoys his newfound freedom. He comes home only when he feels like it now. The safety of man-made walls and the comfort of a soft bed are easily traded for days and nights spent with his pack. Sometimes they sleep in their den and sometimes under the stars. But, as spring weather chases away the last of the cold, mating season sets in.

Sure, the alpha is his. But that doesn’t stop the females from going into heat, and it certainly doesn’t stop the wolves who are second and third in command from following the example of their leader. Jumping at the opportunity afforded them, the two fuck like stallions. And sure, there are a few horny wolves in the pack that prowl around the precocious females in hopes of a turn, but they’re quickly put in their place by the younger, healthier, and more dominant males. The strongest in the pack are the ones who get to breed.

For a period of several weeks, there is far more sexual activity in the pack. Until recently, it’s been mostly Dean getting fucked and the rest of the wolves watching. But as the mating cycle runs its course, the moments when absolutely no one is fucking are few and far between. Dean watches the antics of the pack with interest as the bitches are impregnated, one by one, and slowly lose their desire to be bred. Though kill celebrations have always been lusty affairs, those of the spring prove to be the most feral that Dean’s seen so far.

There are plenty of kills these days, too, because they’ve begun hunting in the city. Not all of Lawrence is surrounded by walls, and the parts of it left to languish haven’t been nearly as exploited as those he’s seen with the men of his community.

To a human alone, or even one who’s exploring with a group, those unprotected parts of the city can seem terrifying. Desolate and exposed to the wild, they _are_ perilous. However, for a man with a weapon in hand and a formidable pack of Wares at his back, they are nothing but new territory. Dean travels confidently with his wolves now, even in the city.

He’d noticed the pack feeling hesitant at first, seemingly unwilling to move into unclaimed territory. But, much like their number gave him confidence, his presence seemed to reassure them as well. The city, after all, was the domain of humans and now they had one among them. 

To wild animals, the sprawling labyrinth of buildings had probably felt like an impenetrable maze. With so many reflective surfaces to startle them and so many blind corners to navigate, the entire urban sprawl had probably seemed fraught with danger despite being mostly deserted by humans. But having Dean lead them in, seeing him ahead and walking side by side with their alpha, the group had followed readily.

Expanding their previous boundaries to include the remnants of civilization has benefited the pack tremendously. They are growing stronger and healthier every day. Prey are plentiful in the city where they’ve not previously been hunted. The foraging is good too. Though the city has been pillaged over the years, there are still vast quantities of packaged goods available if someone is willing to take the time to find them. There is plenty to burn too. The city is a veritable treasure trove that neither of Dean’s families, the human or the wolf, had previously found the courage to partake in. But now, he and Cas lead their pack through the streets like they own the place. 

Cautious and stealthy, they divide their numbers systematically to keep watch in every direction as they pick through the rubble. Dean, being the only one with thumbs, often gets to be the one to introduce his pack to new and exciting treasures. Like beef jerky.

Dean loves the way Cas will look at him when tasting something delicious that he’s never tried before. Dog treats, jerky, even potato chips, are all big hits with Cas and the pack. And, yes, Dean’s wolf has now become ‘Cas’ in his mind. The combination of ‘Cub’ and ‘Badass’ have inevitably merged to become a mangled new word that was perfect in its singularity. Cas.

He’s known the wolf for a long time now, but still, Dean has been unable to choose one persona or the other as the creature’s most defining characteristic. He is both, at all times. Cute and cuddly, strong and fearless. In fact, not a day goes by without multiple emergences of both sides – the hard and the soft - an inseparable mixture of cuddly and commanding, his wolf’s personality defies compartmentalization.

With time, he’s come to refer to the animal as Cas and to do so quite comfortably. He rarely speaks the name aloud, but then again, he doesn’t have much reason to speak when he’s with the wolves. The thoughts he does verbalize tend to be more of a running commentary than anything else. Strangely enough, his wolf seems to comprehend a lot of it. Sometimes, he’ll make a wise-ass comment about something and Cas will give him a familiar side-eye that provokes actual laughter. The responding curl of a canine lip is easily read as return smile – practically a smirk – as his wolf seems to share in his little jokes.

Moving across the northern part of town, which the members of his community have never even attempted to enter, Dean hadn’t even realized he’d been looking for a place of his own until he’d found one. But, the moment he’d pushed in through the front door, he’d had an overwhelming urge to claim the place for his own. Bordering the edge of town on its Northwest corner, the acreage has several large outbuildings. Seated on a hilltop, it has a view of neighboring properties as well as the city itself, sprawling through the valley below. There’s a small pond on one side of the property and small creek nearby too, tributary to a much larger river that rolls through town.

The exterior of the home is an artful combination of wood and stone. He’d loved the look of it immediately. Entering through the front, Dean had found himself in a large foyer from which there were two doorways leading deeper into the house. One had led to a formal sitting room which he’d paid little attention to. The other had looked down into an enormous sunken living room.

Huge despite its oversized furniture, the room hadn’t been dwarfed by the native stone fireplace centered on its far wall. The high vaulted ceiling had felt cavernous and reminded him a little of the packs den. Suspended from chains overhead, huge wrought iron chandeliers had lent the place a medieval feel, reminiscent of a Scottish castle. Before he’d even seen the kitchen, Dean had let out a low whistle and proclaimed the place to be ‘home-sweet-fucking-home’.

The wolves had quickly gotten the idea and he’d smiled watching them grow comfortable and get used to the idea. Now, even after such a short time, the place feels like it’s theirs and always has been.

Out in the open their pack had kept a constant surveillance on the surrounding area quite easily. But here, amidst trees and buildings, they are kept safe by a constant rotation of wolves who prowl the perimeter in groups of two or three. The guards dutifully watch and listen for encroaching danger as well as sniff the dirt on each pass to be sure that there’s no scent of someone unfamiliar having crossed the invisible boundary they’ve established.

Sprawled on couches and carpet inside, eating canned food when the hunts don’t pan out, the pack now enjoy a very comfortable life. It’s good timing, Dean thinks, since the bellies of the mated females have swollen considerably. They’ll give birth soon. There will be pups. Dean smiles every time he thinks of it. The idea of pups is far more enticing to him than the idea of human babies and he can’t wait to play with them in the tall grass by the creek… watch them tumble and frolic and swim and curl up lazily with them in the warm summer sunshine.

The only way their new home doesn’t measure up to his fantasy is owing to its lack of a bearskin rug in front of the fireplace. But, he’d managed to wrestle a huge mattress down from the master bedroom to put where the rug would’ve been. Offering far more cushion for his knees than a rug would have, its every bit as comfortable for sex as it is for sleeping. As if by some silent decree, the pack leave the bed for him and Cas. They sprawl on the carpet nearby or snip playfully at one another for seats on the coveted couches, but the mattress they leave alone.

Piled high with blankets that smell of him and his wolf, Dean loves their bed by the fireplace. Though they still fuck outdoors when and wherever they’d like, they most often do it here. Dean's gotten comfortable enough on that mattress to properly explore his wolf – his fingers welcomed to roam as the beast sprawls languidly. The cock that’s always hidden up inside a soft fur covered pouch, peeks out a bit when he teases at the opening and Dean finds that a touch of his own tongue to that same spot will immediately snap other wolves to attention as they watch from nearby. His playful, seeking tongue will also encourage a moist cock to grow and slowly emerge from its hiding place for him. It was here on their mattress that Dean first sucked that silky cock into his mouth, introducing his alpha to the glorious pleasure that humans know as a blow job.

Sadly, his Ware can’t reciprocate this pleasure to Dean. But he does try. Oh, how he tries. He licks eagerly with ever increasing intensity as Dean’s cock grows hard and heavy. He bathes balls and shaft with warm wetness at varying speeds and with fluctuating pressure until Dean can stand it no longer and eagerly flips over to bare his needy hole. When they fuck and fall asleep here, they do so near a roaring fire. It’s usually still smoky and smoldering when they wake up and the lingering scent of burnt wood is quickly becoming one that Dean associates with ‘home’.

When waking up, he and Cas often stretch indulgently and lazily explore one another with drooping, sleepy eyes before coming fully alert – and it’s not unusual for them to enjoy a slow and comfortable screw before abandoning their comfy bed in favor of the great outdoors.

Dean thinks of this place as their Northern den, while the cave that had originally been their den has come to feel like their ‘southern den’ to him. No doubt they will continue to use it when they need to spend a few nights on the other end of town, but they’ve not slept there at all since having found this place.

Things are a little different for the pack now that they’ve claimed additional territory. For starters, they no longer go everywhere together. They no longer move as one. They split apart often, smaller groups going out to hunt or to explore or even to accompany Dean as he scavenges. No matter what, a fair number always remain here at ‘home base’ to protect their asset, even when the rest of them leave. 

Until they’d found this place, Dean had continued going home during the day most of the time. But, now that he’s staked claim on a place of his own, he seems to have lost all desire to return to place where his parents, his brother, and his extended family live. He had no interest in sleeping in his old room or in keeping up appearances within his community. Dean loves them all dearly, especially his brother. So he still goes to see them and gladly stays for a meal when it’s offered. But then he leaves again. He’s seen his mother and father share questioning looks, but so far they haven’t come right out and asked him what’s going on.

Unsure of exactly what he’s going to say to them when they finally broach the subject, Dean continually pushes the topic from his mind when he can. When he can’t, he carefully considers how much he’s comfortable having them know.

Sadly, the resounding answer is ‘not much’.

So, in the meantime, he keeps avoiding contemplation of the issue to the best of his ability. All the while, he’s building a life with his pack. He hunts with them, even patrols with them. He eats well and he sleeps well and he can’t imagine being more sexually satisfied. Well, maybe if he were properly bitten while getting fucked.

But still, it’s hard to complain. He loves the feel of heavy breath panting at the back of his neck when he’s mounted and he lives to show off for his pack as they watch him be serviced. He eagerly explores new forms of sexual expression with Cas and constantly craves the wild carnality of their sex.

So, despite the fact that he longs to be deeply bitten and feel his alpha drink of him, Dean could never really consider himself to be unsatisfied. Besides, once he’s collapsed into a fucked-out heap, he’s always tenderly licked and cuddled. Loved. No matter where he and Cas are, when Dean looks into those wide blue eyes, he knows he’s home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that it has taken so long for an update. The next one will be much faster, and yes, the next one should be the last. I honestly meant for this to be three chapters at the most back when I started. Shit happens, I guess. Anyway, please remember that this is unbeta'd (and be kind?). Hugs to you all!

Dean feels a cool, damp nose at the base of his ear and smiles sleepily as he’s nuzzled there. Whiskers tickle over the side of his face and Dean reaches out affectionately for his mate. He wraps his arm around behind big, floppy ears to pull the animals’ huge head to his chest. Then, with Cas’s nose gently restrained from his ticklish spots, Dean relaxes. Smiling softly to himself, he strokes the wolf’s head a few times before falling back into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The next time he stirs, it’s to get up and piss. Extracting his limbs from the furry pile next to him, Dean rolls from the mattress onto the floor. Rising from all fours then, he walks inelegantly to the door and staggers outside. Standing just off the front porch, he initiates a stream of urine and then looks around as he empties himself.

The sky is still dark as pitch overhead, but the birds are already chirping. Light will begin to color the sky soon and after that the sun will rise. From a few yards away, Dean hears the sound of something moving through the tall grass. “Mornin’,” he says, greeting the second most powerful wolf in his pack when it materializes from the dark. It acknowledges him with a tip of the head, but avoids further interaction. From the beginning the two have been cordial to one another, nothing more.

The hierarchy within this pack was clear and simple before Dean came along – each animal earning and continually defending their position in the pecking order. In contrast to that, Dean’s elevated position within the group was simply bestowed on him. He can only assume that his status, and the subsequent subordination of high ranking wolves to him, might be a bit of a sore spot. It’s understandable. No one wants to be subjugated beneath someone who is clearly weaker. If there’s dissent in the ranks, however, he’s not noticed it yet. Perhaps that’s because his presence has been an undeniable benefit to the pack. He’s helped them acquire new territory, kept them fed when the hunting grew sparse and his scavenging of the city often yields treats like the Wares have never known before… things like beef jerky and cans of evaporated milk.

Dean has finished pissing now, but the Ware is still watching him intently as he tucks himself away and zips up. The animal seems to be waiting for him to go back inside before returning his attention to the duties of patrol. Just then, the animal tenses. Its ears perk up and its head swivels around to the West. Hackles rise in its russet fur and it tips its great head back to search the air with its keen nostrils.

Scanning the vicinity with his human eyes, Dean can see almost nothing. In the next breath, the wolf beside him launches itself into the night and bounds away, obviously in pursuit of something. Lingering to see what will happen next, he chuckles to himself when he sees the creature returning. Dangling from its jowls is the limp and bloody carcass of a giant jack rabbit. With his curiosity satisfied, Dean turns away and heads back inside.

Stepping over and around the bodies of other sleeping wolves, he moves towards the fireplace where a few embers are still glowing. In front of it, Cas is lazily sprawled out on their mattress and taking up most of the space. But, as Dean puts a knee down, the animal reacts to his arrival by lifting an enormous paw to make room.

Dean crawls in and curls up against the furry chest of his mate. As he settles in, the paw comes back down to rest protectively over his upper body. He’s warm and content, but sleep doesn’t return. Growing restless, Dean stretches and wriggles lower so he can wake up Cas the fun way. Bringing his knee up to the wolf’s groin, Dean uses it to gently apply pressure to the weighty package hidden there. Once, twice, and then a third time he does this, grinning wickedly when the creature orchestrates a languid stretch. It’s a sign that his Ware is agreeable to waking up. 

As the wolf relaxes back into the mattress, Dean is already wriggling lower in order to get his mouth down where his knee previously was. Exhaling breath on the animals belly as he goes, Dean chuckles to himself. This, he’s learned, is Cas’s ticklish spot and when Dean’s breathing disturbs the thin, soft hair that grows there, Cas reacts. So, Dean doubles back and tickles him a second time, loving the way the belly of his beast twitches under his chin.

By the time Dean’s mouth has reached his wolf’s package, the animals cock is already peeking out a bit. It’s light pink and shiny wet where it protrudes from the sheath and when Dean flicks at it with his tongue, he hears the happy thumping of a tail on bedding. He can feel it when Cas lifts his head too – bending at the neck to watch as Dean opens his mouth over the vaguely pointy tip and gently begins to suck. Almost immediately the small shaft begins to plump up and fill his mouth and from a few feet away, the sound of a low growl indicates that at least one of his pack mates is hungrily watching.

Glancing back towards the head of his wolf, Dean doesn’t let up. He keeps his lips sealed tightly around the growing shaft and tongues at the concave tip to elicit a whine from his mate. Watching the creature watch him, Dean sees his canine lover tips his nose in Dean’s general direction, nostrils flaring as he contemplates a curious scent. He’s often wondered if Cas can actually smell sexual arousal on him, because that nose seems quite intuitive.

Dean’s already shirtless, having slept in just his pants. But, his wolf grows increasingly responsive to his advances, Dean is already fumbling with his zipper. Hard as a rock behind it, he groans in relief when his cock is finally free. Then he turns his attention to shucking his jeans off and as if determined to help with the effort, Cas sinks his teeth in. Clamping down on the thick material, the Ware tugs repeatedly until the effort finally pays off by revealing Dean’s bare butt cheeks.

Having worked together, he and his wolf have managed to expose his the flesh of his ass and now that it’s bared to the room, several wolves begin to growl aggressively from nearby. Dean’s always liked the way they watch him get fucked, especially the aggressive noises they make as it happens. Eager to take things to the next level, he pulls his knees up under him and arches his back. This new position is intended to entice. Dean’s eager as he continues to suck more urgently, bobbing his head up and down on a perpetually growing canine cock.

Dean also begs audibly, simply by allowing a whine to rise up from the back of his throat. That particular sound always seems to invite aggression from his Ware and he tends to use it when he’s in the mood for some rough treatment. Repeating the sound as he sucks harder, Dean opens his throat to accommodate the swollen length of his mate, who is now growling low in the back of his throat. It’s a response to Dean’s persistent, needy noises and he suspects that the translation of that growl into human words would be something along the lines of, “keep whining like a needy bitch and I’ll breed you like one”.

Dean pulls his mouth off of Cas’s swollen package and takes a second to scramble the rest of the way out of his jeans. Once he’s completely naked, he kicks his clothing aside and pops back up onto his hands and knees. Thrusting his backside closer to Cas’s head, Dean is silently requesting a rim job. He gets them often now, long sessions of intricate tongue work lavished on him by a zealous and indulgent canine lover. It’s a sharp contrast to the way Dean had been mated in their earliest couplings – a few cursory licks to wet his hole being all that the wolf seemed interested in allocating most of the time. Occasionally, he’d licked a bit more intently between fucks, though Dean had often suspected those little rimming sessions to have actually been motivated by an urge to lap at the dripping cream pie he'd left in Deans hole, or perhaps to entice his exhausted human into being bred again, rather than having been doled out strictly for Dean’s enjoyment.

Regardless, as they'd continued mating exuberantly through the passage of many seasons, Dean’s alpha wolf had seemed to both embrace the practice of eating him out - and continually perfect it. Their current position is now one of Dean’s favorites, an inter-species version of the sixty-nine. Dean will sometimes lay lazily on his side, but is more frequently perched on all fours when they do it, pressing his face between Cas’s legs to pleasure the animal as it simultaneously cranes it’s head around to press a nose, tongue, or even teeth to Dean’s exposed hole.

Unlike humans who sixty-nine, however, he and Cas have never really climaxed in this position. No matter how good the oral is, Dean’s alpha always seems intent on having his cock buried in Dean when he comes. The animal must realize that Dean is a male, and as such, cannot produce young. But, poor Cas seems dead-set on trying. So, Dean always knows that no matter how good his blow jobs are, his mate will never come in his mouth… to do so would be to pass up the opportunity to mount Dean for the big finish. Luckily, Dean loves being mounted. Loves it.

Anticipating the act now, he groans aloud and continues sucking off his wolf with reckless abandon. Licking and gasping on a swollen cock as he’s pleasured from behind, Dean doubles the effort to please his mate and his arousal climbs to new heights. His wild, blue-eyed wolf alternates between swirling motions around his hole and plunging his tongue forcefully into it. Groaning in pleasure as he’s penetrated with a textured tongue, Dean begins to twitch and quiver.

He’s being worked open in the most delicious way. And then, when Cas seems to have decided that the moment is right, he suddenly lunges for Dean. Pushing him forward and down in one swift motion, the alpha easily folds him into the perfect position. With his ass in the air and his shoulders down against the mattress, pinned in that posture by the weight of a determined Ware, Dean screams out in pleasure as he’s aggressively speared from behind.

Spreading him wide over an engorged shaft, Cas humps into him eagerly, inviting growls and even howling from those lingering nearby to watch. Adjusting himself as best he can under the weight of his exuberant alpha, Dean keeps shifting the angle of penetration until it’s perfect. He knows he’s found the right spot when a familiar stirring begins in his abdomen. It doesn't take long for the sensation to intensify and begin to churn.

Embracing the feeling, he rocks into it and relishes the way his own dick swings beneath him as he's fucked. He can feel his alphas knot swelling inside him, and each time Cas pulls back from a thrust it tugs at Dean's rim. The sensation is maddeningly erotic and as the shaft he rides continues to swell and stretch him wider, Dean throws back his head and screams in pleasure once more. He loves having his mate pound into him heavily from behind like this, and as his wolf prepares to flood him with cum it presses in close behind Dean. Soft fur brushes over his bare back and then Cas's weight settles over his back. There's hot breath at his neck. Teeth. "Yes," he whispers, hopeful for a bite. Since he knows the end is approaching, he reaches down between his legs and starts jerking himself off. The churning pleasure in his stomach seems to get heavier and sink lower, pressing down on his balls from deep inside.

When he comes, it’s dizzying. The room spins and whirls around him for a few chaotic moments as it happens. There’s still heavy breath at his neck, teeth pressing to the skin there. “Do it,” he whispers wantonly, “fuckin’ take me.”

Despite Dean's pleas, the teeth don't sink in. But, Cas does keep them locked against Dean's neck and that means little pokes from the canine incisors are a by product of their body movements. Each prick is scintillating and sends shivers through Dean's body. Long after Dean has blown his load and crumpled down into the mattress, no longer able to bear the weight of the hungry wolf impaling him, Cas is still thrusting into him and Dean lays there like a bitch and takes it all. The alpha wolf, having adjusted his body to Dean's new position, growls through the bared teeth at Dean's neck and continues savagely humping, fast and hard, because he isn’t done yet.

Doing all he can to keep his legs spread wide, Dean tries to keep himself open so Cas can continue, but it isn't easy. The knot inside him is now swollen so large that it feels like a softball. He loves that it's keeping them connected and the sensation of the hard flesh tugging at his rim on each pull back. But, his limp body is flopping around on the mattress like a rag doll and he wishes he could summon enough strength to get back on his knees and lock his frame. Regardless, the wild and primitive breeding of a heavy beast is thrilling. Even being fucked into the mattress like this, Dean can’t help smiling at the obscenity of it all… the savagery of the sex and the carnality of having so many sets of eyes on him as he gives it all up for his alpha. It seems doubtful that he’ll ever grow tired of having an audience for the sexual exploits he enjoys with Cas. 

When his alpha has finally come, flooding wet heat into Dean, it issues another throaty growl and then hunkers down on top of Dean possessively. Dean eagerly surrenders to be dominated by his alpha and revels in moments like this one, where he's physically trapped beneath the animal. It will take a while for the knot to shrink and slip out of him, and Dean enjoys it by purposefully stretching and flexing so he can continue feeling it even as the two of them slowly come down from the high. 

The feverish panting soon passes, both man and beast soon regaining the rhythm of normal breathing. As they realize that show is over, those nearby begin to stretch and sniff around. Dean gets another tongue bath when they've recovered, but this one is less sensual and more tender. Caring. Cas gently cleans sticky cum spatters from his skin and licks warm affection into his neck and his stubbly cheek, paying special attention to the tiny punctures left behind on Dean's neck. Though he thinks he'll always love the feel of breath and teeth on his neck, Dean has long given up any real hope that his mate will inflict more than a superficial wound.

He smiles as the animal buries its nose in his hair. It’s getting long, Dean realizes, and he’ll need to get it cut the next time he’s home. Cas whispers a few soft snuffles at the base of Dean’s neck and then gets up. Begrudgingly, Dean rises too.

Morning has come while they’ve been mating and now the sun is up and shining brightly. Outside, the wolves on patrol are howling. It’s possible that they’re answering the howls from inside, commiserating about the carnality of their leader’s morning fuck. But then again, it’s also possible that they’re simply growing impatient as they wait to be relieved of their duties guarding the perimeter.

He washes up in the basin and checks himself out in a nearby mirror. He still loves seeing the marks of his lover on the skin of his neck and shoulder but he’ll need to hide them before seeing his mother – especially if he’s going to ask her to cut his hair. It’s at this moment that a foreboding chill descends on him. He’s been gone a long time. In fact, even when he closes his eyes and concentrates, he can’t count out how many days it’s been since he’s been home. It’s with a deep sense of dread that Dean comes to accept an inevitable truth… the next time he sees his family, he’d better be ready to answer some questions. Big. Fucking. Questions.

Pushing the thought from his mind for now, he heads out to join Cas. They’d spent yesterday here at home, playing with pups and watching carefully as their carefree rough-and-tumble games showcased both their strengths and weaknesses. Cas was intent as he assessed them and though Dean had been relaxed and enjoying himself, he knew that his alpha had been taking stock of the packs newest members. Anticipating where each would fit into the ranks as they grew, he was likely also considering which of their personalities might be problematic for the group or even, perhaps, a threat to his leadership.

The pups are growing now, still precocious and adorable, but notably bigger and increasingly curious. Even to Dean it’s obvious that the time is drawing near for them to start accompanying adults as they venture away from home. It’s time for them to learn to hunt, to patrol, and yes, to fight. For real.

Since they’d stayed home yesterday with the pups, today they’ll venture out. As he’s pulling on his boots, Cas selects a few from the pack to accompany them. Included in their little posse is the third ranking wolf, a formidable grey with eyes that resemble Cas’s. They’re a bit dull in comparison, sure, but remarkably similar and a magnificent pairing with the animals silvery fur. Much like the number two wolf of the pack, this one is cordial to Dean though not particularly friendly.

Naming the wolves has seemed unnatural to Dean from the beginning, and though he’d been unable to resist naming his mate, he has thus far resisted assigning a real name to any other. The wolves don’t name one another, it’s just not their way. They know each other by scent and presence only. But, Dean is a human. As the wolves have their nature, he has his. So, he’s slowly been losing the inner battle he fights to keep from naming these creatures and often refers to them in his own mind by one characteristic or another. The two lead wolves, the ones immediately beneath Cas in rank, Dean thinks of as the Brown and the Grey. He never utters the pseudo-names aloud, but he can’t help but do it in his head. A few others in the pack are also known to him primarily by their color while others are conjured in his mind by a predominant characteristic. Like, Lazybones. There’s also One-eye. One-eye doesn’t bear an empty socket, he simply has one eye that’s brown and another that’s almost white. It’s impossible not to grin when thinking of Sir-Licks-A-Lot. That’s the closest thing to a name that Dean’s given any of his packmates and it’s well deserved. That wolf has an oral fixation if Dean’s ever seen one.

Following him and Cas outside, the assembled team for today pause when they meet up with the wolves on patrol. Dean watches as the group gather to sniff one anothers snouts and exchange information. Tipping his head back, Cas then gives a long howl followed by a few short ones. Having seen this many times now, Dean knows what’s happening. It’s a changing of the guard. Those currently in charge of manning the perimeter have been officially relieved of duty and others called up to replace them.

Once they’ve moved on from there, Dean and the wolves that surround him have crossed the invisible border that marks the boundaries of their home. Though there’s no fence or manmade structure to indicate the edge of their claimed property, Dean can see it quite clearly. The ground is trampled and nearly bare from being continually tread upon by the paws of his Wares. Hell, if he had a nose like them, he’d probably also be able to smell their unique combination of scents lingering like a cloud over path they’ve worn in the foliage.

He’s certain that the combined scent of his pack lingers at the perimeter as marked by their constant patrols, a veritable wall of warning to any encroaching animal that the land within the circle is claimed and will be defended with force.

Heading downhill now, Dean and Cas take the lead position. Flanked by two guards, they also have several wolves at their backs, protecting the group from any dangers that might spring up behind them. There are, after all, other packs of Wares. Dean had seen several just from his bedroom window when he was still living with his parents. But now that he’s spent time roaming the area with his own pack, he’s become aware of several more. He hears them often, distant howls carried to his pack on a breeze. 

Much like his sense of smell, Dean’s hearing is also dull compared to the wolves. So, if he’s hearing a distant howl every now and then, his packmates are likely hearing much, much more. It’s likely that they track the movements of the other packs and know which are where at any given moment. Dean, in contrast, is largely oblivious to most of it. The sun overhead is hot today and before they’ve even walked half a mile, Dean is sweating. Grasping his shirt at the waist, he pulls it up and uses the material to wipe his brow. As he lets go of it, all the wolves around him abruptly come to a halt.

Dean freezes along with them, not knowing why they’ve stopped but certain that there’s good reason. The city is visible in the distance to his left and that makes it easy to know his approximate location. He’s come to think this way now, constantly mapping his surroundings as he moves so he can remember exactly where he saw and heard certain things. It’s probably just a byproduct of living amongst territorial animals, but it’s been quite useful regardless.

Seeing nothing around him that merits stopping, Dean looks to his alpha for some indication of what’s going on. He finds the wolf’s blue eyes anchored on him. Once their gaze connects, Cas tips his head. Dean reads this as an answer to his biggest question (which direction should I be looking?). Turning his attention in the indicated direction, Dean still sees nothing. Uncertain, he looks back at Cas. The animal is moving now, crossing in front of Dean to cautiously lead him.

With his ears flattened back, Cas issues a low growl of warning to the rest of the wolves and in doing so puts Dean on high alert. He quickly pulls his gun and checks it. Then, with the safety off, he resumes walking. Every single wolf has their hackles raised – all of them on high alert; nervous. Dean’s body is coursing with adrenaline and he keeps his weapon trained on the space directly above Cas’s head as he walks a few feet behind. Wherever his mate is looking, that’s where the danger will come from and he wants to be ready. When they stop again, the wolves at Deans back all take an aggressive stance, turned to face the ground they’ve already covered and protect their leaders back. Dean keeps his attention forward where Cas and the Grey are intently focused on a cluster of trees. The ground on which they stand had clearly once been farmland. Now, it’s just open terrain. Covered in prairie grass, weeds, and shrubs, it gives the illusion that one would see danger coming from a great distance. But Dean knows this to be untrue. Anything that knows to crouch, even human hunters, can get damned close without being seen as they move through swaying grasses. Thankfully, his wolves aren’t doomed to relying on sight like he is. They can _smell_ danger. Sense it.

Cas is looking at him imploringly, but Dean has no idea what scent his pack have been following or what they know that he doesn’t. Looking around and then back at Cas, he gives the alpha a shrug to indicate that he’s got no idea what’s going on. With a dip of his great head and a soft whine from deep in his throat, Cas bids Dean to come closer.

Approaching cautiously, Dean comes to stand near his alphas shoulder. The great black beast dips his again, but much deeper this time. It’s an exaggerated movement to indicate that Dean should at the ground and he can practically feel the wolves at his back rolling their eyes. At times like this, he’s sure that they’re all wondering why the hell their alpha continues to keep him around.

Following Cas’s movement, he focuses on the ground and sees something. It’s unclear what has disturbed the soil so he steps closer and bends to examine it. “I’ll be damned,” he whispers, “it’s a fucking footprint.” As if understanding him completely, Cas bends his neck to lock eyes with Dean. His stare is intense and there’s a question in those eyes. It’s the same one that Dean’s asking himself… what the fuck would bring a human all the way out here?

People stay near the city. They scavenge the areas of it that have been deemed safe and when they venture away from it to hunt, they stick primarily to wooded areas. Perhaps they're under the impression that trees offer some degree of protection, or are assuming that game is more plentiful there. But, for whatever reason, human hunters avoid the wide open prairie. Coming miles out from town on open ground like this? It’s unheard of. This is Ware territory. If nothing else, driving this far out would be a waste of gas. No one hunting would walk this far either, simply because transporting the kill would be so challenging on the return journey. From his position on one knee, Dean looks up at his wolf and asks, “We gonna follow it?”

As if to say, “Of course we are, dumbass,” the wolf brushes past him. Looking back at Dean as he moves on, the white of the animals eyes show for a moment and the result is so comical that it elicits a chuckle from him. Getting to his feet, Dean falls in line behind Cas and returns his firearm to its previous position – pointed directly into the space above his alphas head. They progress slowly, Cas in the lead and the Grey following, with Dean sandwiched between them. The other wolves spread around them in a protective formation. Everyone is on high alert. The wolves follow a trail marked predominantly by scent, while Dean watches the ground at his feet for visual indications of a trail to follow.

Though Dean’s been through this area before, the prints are not his. First of all, they’ve been made by a bigger foot. But even if they’d been the same size, his wolves would’ve known by scent whether or not the tracks had been laid by Dean.

As they walk, the elevation of the land changes. Dean notices that the footprints disappear in the higher places and reappear in the low lying areas – it’s an indication that the tracks were made when the land was wetter than it is now. The prints seem to sink half an inch into the ground, and even in the lowest areas they’re dry now, hardened into their shape. The prints are spaced far apart which seems to indicate a long stride. That, combined with the size of the foot, seems to indicate someone tall.

As they near the cluster of trees they’ve been approaching, Cas issues a growl. He’s cautioning the others to be on high alert. Dean follows, arms extended with his gun ready and a finger on the trigger. When they step into the shade at the tree line, Dean feels immediate relief from the hot sun. Even that seems to relax him a little.

Cautious of the sound of his footfalls, Dean tries to walk stealthily, as do the wolves. They don’t make a sound. He glances at the ground occasionally, monitoring the visible trail of a human. When the prints double up, he signals Cas. Though he’s likely not telling the animal anything he doesn’t already know, Dean can’t quell the urge to mention that they’re likely entering an area of frequent use or, worse yet, an area that’s being used by more than one person.

Cas dips his head without looking back at Dean, a silent acknowledgement of having received his signal, and it’s at that exact moment that chaos falls on his group. The grey, leaping ahead on Dean’s left, is snarling and behind him, the others follow suit. Cas is rising, as Dean’s seen him do only a few times, to stand on hind legs. The pounce that follows is awe-inspiring. It’s a leap that he can’t help but appreciate for both its fluidity and its undeniable ferociousness. Even now, as he prepares to fire at the first sight of a threat, he’s momentarily distracted by his appreciation for the grace and predatory power of this incredible animal.

Both Cas and the Grey converge on a single point at the base of a tree and Dean can’t quite understand what is happening in that moment. His confusion causes hesitation and that’s what keeps his finger from pulling the trigger. The grey is attacking something, something Dean can’t yet see from his vantage, but to Dean’s utter shock, Cas is defending. All Dean can see is a flurry of teeth and claws, and he stands in ready position and tries to assess what’s happening and where his firepower might be needed.

Then, from behind the blur of warring black and grey fur, Dean sees a shape moving in the shadows and tall grasses. This, he instinctively knows, is what his alpha and one of the lead wolves are fighting over. Allowing his weapon to follow the target as it appears to scuttle away, Dean takes a step, then two. His eyes work to adjust to the contrast of bright and dark as the light filtering through the swaying branches overhead creates moving shadows on the patchy grasses below. It’s not easy to focus on a moving target amid so much distraction, but Dean stays with it.

In the space of one breath he recognizes the target of his weapon as human and before he’s even inhaled again, he’s lowering his weapon. Surging forward now, Dean dives through the thicket. “Sammy? Sammy? Sammy! What the fuck –

Taking a protective stance over his brother, Dean turns his weapon on the grey. In an instant he understands everything. The grey is doing what he’s always done – taking down a human on sight. Cas, however, having been intimate with Dean for so long, knows this scent. He associates it with Dean and is ready to die defending it. Seeing two enormous Wares fight is an incredible thing. He can feel it in the ground each time one of their mighty paws comes down and their snarls send shivers of fear of down his spine. The great Grey wolf is no match for Cas and on some level Dean knows this. After all, if he were capable of winning in a battle with the alpha, he’d actually _be_ the alpha.

Still, not wanting his mate to sustain injury, Dean turns his weapon skyward and fires it. The initial blast sends all the other wolves to the ground in defensive positions but it barely phases the two lead males who only pause before lunging again. Dean fires again, twice more in quick succession, and yells for his mate. Finally, the two great wolves step back from one another. There’s a tense moment where they stare each other down, but once he’s sure they’ll not be engaging again, Dean turns his attention to his brother. The boy’s clutching a sawed off shotgun to his chest and breathing heavily. His face is flushed and he’s sweating profusely. Clearly, he’s terrified.

“Sammy,” he says, still breathing heavily. “What the fuck are you doing out here?” Even as he waits for an answer from his brother, Dean is pulling the boy to his feet.

“Dean,” he whispers, surging forward to wrap his arms around Dean’s chest. “Dean, I’m sorry,” he pleads, hugging him tightly.

“Wh- what are you sorry for?” he asks, looking over his brothers head to stare at Cas.

“I’m sorry for looking for you,” he replies. “I know you didn’t wanna be found.”

“Then why?” he asks, already knowing that something must be wrong.

“It’s dad,” says Sammy, pulling out of their embrace. Dean tears his eyes away from Cas to lock them on his brother. “It’s dad,” the boy repeats, “he’s on a hunting trip. Hasn’t been home in a few days…”

Even as Sam’s voice trails off, Dean begins to understand. “I wouldn’t have come,” says Sam, “except that mom went out after him.”

“What?” he breathes, his heart suddenly dropping into his stomach. “What do you mean she went after him?”

“She loaded the Impala,” replies Sam. “Filled the trunk with guns and made Aunt Ellen promise to stay and look out for me.”

“Where’s Bobby?” Dean demands.

“He was with dad.”

Sick to his stomach, Dean drops to the ground. “Fuck,” he whispers, willing himself to be stronger for his brother.

“I know,” replies Sam, eyes now locked fearfully over Dean’s shoulder.

“They won’t hurt you,” Dean reassures.

“Because they’re yours?” his brother asks softly.

“Kind of,” he admits.

“I’ve seen you with them,” Sammy adds, “at your house.”

“My house?”

Dean follows the boys pointing finger to the binoculars that dangle on a string around his neck. “I’ve seen your place, but couldn’t get close enough to talk to you. You’ve got excellent guards.”

“Oh Sammy,” he whispers, his mind spinning as he contemplates what his brother may have seen.

“I love the pups,” grins his brother. “It was so fun watching you play with them yesterday and I wanted to come join you so bad.”

“You were watching that?” he asks, stunned.

“Yep. I think it’s neat, Dean, that you can talk to them or whatever. You’re special. Have you always understood them? Is that why they never scared you the way they scared me?”

“No,” he admits, still unsure of how much his brother really knows. “I don’t really talk to them, but I guess I do kinda understand them.”

“I think it’s neat,” he says again, the innocence in his eyes a strong argument in favor of the boy still being blissfully unaware of Dean’s status as a bitch who belongs to the packs alpha. “I can see why you never told anybody,” he tacks on.

Dean nods, looking over his shoulder to where Cas and the Grey are now watching him intently. “Yeah, Sammy,” he sighs. “They wouldn’t understand.”

“They’d probably try and use you,” Sammy says. “Like, they’d want you to keep them away so we could hunt farther out… might even try to get you to betray them, use you to trick the wolves into a trap or something and kill them.”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, reaching to pull his brother into another hug. “Yeah, Sammy, they would.”

Dean knows his brother is right, but he’d honestly never even thought about that particular scenario. Sam seems to think that Dean’s relationship with the wolves is a platonic one, one that has formed simply because Dean is special somehow and can communicate with the wolves. It’s not exactly the truth, but his brother has come to a conclusion that Dean’s not going to correct. After all, it’s far more benign and socially acceptable than the truth… that Dean was sexually aroused by a big black wolf and has since fallen into a very sexual relationship with the creature. Dean’s place in the pack, which Sammy seems to have witnessed from afar, is the result of his bond with just one wolf, not the entire pack. And that bond isn’t special or even admirable, it’s deviant as fuck.

Or is it?

As he drops an arm around his brothers shoulder and leads him over for introductions, Dean is contemplating how perverted his yearnings really are. After all, Cas is sentient. That much has been clear from the start. Cas was a willing participant in their sexual interactions from the beginning. Hell, he was the instigator. Dean hadn’t even understood what he really wanted from the wolf until it had been given to him.

Everything they do is consensual, so why has he always felt so ashamed of it? Is it simply that humans, in general, have an aversion to interspecies sex? It must be, he thinks, because the only time he feels shame is when he imagines how other people will feel about what he’s done. Away from the company of other humans, his relationship with Cas feels quite natural.

The wolves have clustered together now, Cas at the center and standing closest. Dean approaches slowly and with confidence, pulling his brother along. Seeking to prove that Sammy means them no harm, Dean drops to one knee and pulls his brother down with him. Cas approaches with equal surety and care, eyes locked with Dean on the approach and then drifting to Sam when he’s in arms reach.

“Just hold still, Sammy,” he says, watching closely as Cas begins to sniff at his brother. Dean smiles as he watches Sam lose the last of his inhibitions and embrace the experience. He knows it’s a heady thing to be close to these intimidating animals. They’re huge, for starters, far bigger than the regular wolves of the past – the likes of which Dean has only seen on television. But in addition to their hulking size, obvious strength, and terrifying teeth, the eyes of these creatures are intimidating too. They’re intelligent and aware on a level that most animals are not. You can actually see them thinking things through – see the gears turning in their heads as they figure out complex things and apply what they’ve learned.

“This is Cas,” Dean says, smiling as he sees his mate familiarize himself more intimately with the scent of Dean’s human family and readily accept it.

“Hey there, Cas,” smiles Sammy, keeping his head bent low as he’s sniffed. “Can I pet him?” he asks hopefully.

“Um, go slow,” Dean cautions, sure that Cas will allow it but not certain of how happy he’ll be with the interaction. “And,” he adds, “just Cas, okay? Don’t pet any of the others.”

“Okay,” agrees his little brother, tentatively reaching out his hand. Cas licks it and Dean chuckles affectionately as he watches his mate and his brother getting acquainted.

“You ready to meet the rest?” he asks, seeing that Cas is looking over at the others.

“Yeah,” says Sammy, shifting his weight to get comfortable on his knees.

“Remember,” cautions Dean, “keep your hands to yourself. The rest wont be as friendly as Cas.”

“What are their names?” Sammy asks, watching the big Grey wolf draw hesitantly closer.

“I just call that one ‘the Grey’,” he says.

“Creative,” says Sam flippantly, staying still as the enormous creature begins to sniff at him. Once familiar with his scent, it moves in a circle around him, pausing to sniff at Sams rear. This is a normal thing among canines, Dean’s sure of it, but because of his history with Cas, he’s momentarily fearful that the Grey might try and mount the poor kid, somehow under the impression that as more humans join their ranks, they’ll be available for breeding. He’s relieved when the animal moves on, clearly uninterested.

“And who is this one?” asks Sam as another wolf comes walking up to smell him. Dean explains to his brother that not all the wolves have names and why. Then, once everyone has been properly introduced, the brothers rise.

“How many days have they been gone?” Dean asks, returning to the bigger issue at hand.

“Dad’s been gone five, as of this morning. Mom’s been gone two.”

“Where was he planning to hunt?” Dean asks, trying to decide where to begin searching.

“I dunno,” Sam answers, his face morose. “I wasn’t really paying attention. If they said, I didn’t hear it.”

“We’ll start south of the gate,” he says, knowing that was the area most commonly used when his dad left to go hunting. Gesturing towards the shotgun in his brothers hand, Dean says, “That your only protection?”

“No,” says Sam, tipping his chin to indicate the tree he’d been sitting under as Dean and the wolves had approached.

“Up there?” Dean asks, staring up into the branches. It’s a good tree, he thinks, easy to climb and tall enough to offer a decent view of the surrounding area.

“Yeah,” his brother chuckles. “I’ve been doin’ the Tarzan thing.”

“Well then,” he winks, “lemme see it.”

Off like a rocket, Sam springs into the tree and hauls himself up from branch to branch. When he reaches a wide one that forks near the trunk, the boy moves out onto it. There’s a blanket up there that’s clearly been serving as a soft place to rest and Dean can only assume that his brother has been hiding out in this tree for at least a night or two. As he stares up from below, Sam bends down to gather up the blanket. Rising again, he reaches out to grasp a huge canvas satchel that’s hanging from a nearby branch. Pulling it down, he stuffs the blanket into it and then loops the whole thing around his neck and shoulder before climbing back down.

“What’ve we got here,” Dean muses, taking the oversized bag from his brother and digging through it. “Well done, Sammy,” he says, seeing a variety of weapons as well as a good supply of other necessities – a flashlight, some batteries, a little first aid kit, and even little packages of sandwiches and what appear to be homemade cookies. “Moms?” he asks, holding up a baggie of oatmeal raisin.

“I’m not sure,” he shrugs, “they might be Aunt Ellens.”

“Well I’m stealin’ one,” he says unrepentantly. He tosses the supply bag back to his brother and turns to face the city. “Let’s get goin’,” he says, urging his brother to join him. The wolves fall in around them as they begin walking towards civilization. Cas stays at Dean’s left and as he begins eating the cookie, Dean breaks it in half to share it with his wolf.

The heat of the day is bearing down on them cruelly as they cross the wide open plain. There’s a breeze, but it’s hot. He and Sam are soon sweating profusely and the wolves pant heavily as their group moves towards the remains of the city. The wall is predominantly what they see from a distance, but as they move closer, Dean can see the outlines of buildings and even movement in some areas.

“Lemme see those,” he says to his brother, reaching for the binoculars that still hang around Sam’s neck. Seeming to seize an opportunity to rest, Sam drops his heavy pack to the ground and unwinds the rope from around his neck to pass them over. Dean holds them to his face, adjusting the lenses as he peers through them to zero in on the wall. Beside him, he hears the whump of his brother plopping down on his satchel to rest. The wolves, too, seem eager for a break and Dean can hear them lowering themselves to the ground and stretching out. They’re panting quite heavily now in the mid-day heat, but he knows they aren’t inattentive just because they’re hot and tired. He still trusts them to have his back as he stands out in the open. Watching the gate for a moment, he makes note of how many are on duty before scanning back and forth along the length of the wall. Nothing seems unusual or out of place, but he’s been gone long enough that it all feels foreign to him. That’s when it dawns on him that this isn’t his home anymore. Without having ever consciously made a choice, Dean had chosen. His home is with the wolves now and he’s never been more certain of it than he is in this moment. 

“You see anything out of the ordinary?” he asks, passing the binoculars back to his brother.

Taking a moment to look, he says, “Nope. Why would I?”

“I was just wondering if any of those fuckers on watch had been watchin’us, he says sarcastically. “That’s their job right? To be on the lookout for Wares?”

Beside him Sam huffs a laugh, still looking through the viewers, and jokingly says, “They aren't exactly over-achievers.”

“Cas,” says Dean, looking over at his wolf. Hearing his name, the beast gets to his feet and gives Dean his undivided attention. Dean points to a cluster of trees nearby and gestures for the wolves to head that way. He has to repeat the gesture several times before his alpha finally dips his head to indicate that he understands. Taking his small pack of wolves with him, Cas heads over to the small grove. Dean hopes that a chance to rest in the shade for a while will do them good. In the meantime, he lifts the heavy satchel onto his shoulder and starts walking. Referring to the men guarding the city wall, Dean says, “You keep an eye on them as we get closer Sammy, and let me know right away if somethin’ seems off.”

“Off?”

“Yeah, Sammy, just let me know if something doesn’t seem right – even if it’s just a weird feelin’, okay?”

“Okay,” his brother replies. “But I don’t know why you’re suddenly all paranoid about the guys at the gate. They’re there to protect us.”

“I know,” he sighs. “Just humor me,” he adds, and then he doesn’t speak again as they close the distance. When the brothers finally get within ear shot of the gate, a familiar face comes barreling out to meet them. It’s Garth.

“Heya Sam, glad ya found him,” greets the lanky young man.

“Me too,” Sammy answers. “Any word from my folks? Bobby?”

“Sorry hombre, no word yet.”

“S’okay,” says Sam, kicking at a rock. “My brother’s gonna help me look.”

“Hey Garth,” says Dean, transferring the satchel over to his other shoulder just for something to do. “When my dad and Bobby went out, do you remember which way they went?”

“Wasn’t my watch,” he shrugs, turning away to ask the others on duty the same question. Sadly, it would seem that none of the others remember anything of consequence.

“I’m gonna have to grab some stuff from the house,” says Dean, walking through the gate with Sam on his heels.

“The house?” Sam complains, hurrying to catch up. “We’ll lose at least a half-hour if we go home, Dean.”

“Probably more,” he agrees, “but it’ll be worth it. You’ll see.”

“But Dean,” he tries again, “why would we-

Half growling at his brother, Dean says, “Dammit Sammy, if you didn’t wanna do things my way then you shouldn’t have come to get me.”

Seeming to understand, Sam quiets and falls in step with Dean. Though he’s no longer arguing, he’s irritated and unhappy about taking the time for what he clearly thinks is an unnecessary stop. Dean doesn’t bother taking the time to explain, even though they’ve got plenty of time as they walk through town. Mostly he just hates having had his decision challenged and that’s why he won’t be bothered with providing his brother an explanation.

When they finally reach the Winchester home, Ellen isn’t around. “Maybe she’s out looking for you,” Dean grumbles. “Did you even bother telling her where you were headed when you left?”

“She would’ve tried to stop me,” Sam replies sheepishly.

“Gonna have the whole damned family out in the open,” Dean grumbles, “everybody fuckin’ lookin’ for everybody else.”

“Why are we here, Dean?”

“We need some of dads clothes,” Dean tells him, already heading for the bedroom that his parents had always shared. Sam comes in with him, heading straight for the closet. “Not those,” Dean tells him, headed for the hamper. “We don’t want the ones that smell like soap, and maybe mom from her having handled them. We want the ones that smell like dad. His sweat, his stink, that’s what we need.”

As though the lightbulb has just come on in Sammy’s mind, the kids face lights up. “For the wolves,” he breathes excitedly.

“Oh now you get it, huh?” Dean grouses. “All of a sudden you’re with me again?”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam says, dropping to one knee to dig through the dirty clothes. “I should’ve trusted you.”

“S’okay Sammy,” he says, heading back to the hallway. “Get a bunch, and some of Bobby’s too.”

“Where are you going?” Sam asks, pausing to look at Dean as the question is asked.

Ducking his chin as though ashamed of himself, Dean answers by saying, “I just need some stuff from my room.” His brother drops his eyes then, returning to the task at hand. Dean takes the opportunity to head upstairs. He’s got no idea what he should take with him, only that he knows he won’t be living here anymore. Looking around his boyhood bedroom, his eyes drift from one thing to another. Treasured toys from his youth are still tucked away in his closet. Pictures in frames decorate his dresser. His favorite riffle is leaning in one corner and a few of his favorite books are piled up on the little table next to his bed.

Heading to the closet, he tugs an overnight bag down from the top and begins to fill it. The riffle goes in, along with a box of ammo from his top drawer. The old leather jacket his father had passed down to him gets shoved in as well. He adds a few favorite shirts, some fresh underwear and socks, a few more pairs of pants, and his only other pair of boots. Then, dropping the bag on his bed for a moment, he heads over to the dresser. From the frames, he plucks a few of his favorite photographs. Tucking them between the pages of a thick hardcover book for safekeeping, he then adds the book to his bag like the cherry on a sundae. Wrenching it shut tightly, Dean turns to leave and says a quick goodbye to his old life on his way out the door.

At the bottom of the stairs, Sammy is waiting for him. “Ready?” he asks.

“Let’s go,” he answers, thumping down the stairs and heading for the front door.

The brothers march back the way they’d come, passing the guards at the gate as they exit the city. Wishes of good luck are called to them as they pass by and the brothers both acknowledge the sentiment by lifting their guns in the air as a solute. Dean doesn’t walk toward the small grove where he’d sent Cas and the pack to wait for him. Instead, he walks to the south. That’s the way his father and Bobby most likely would’ve gone and the sun is sinking lower in the sky. They’ll run out of daylight soon enough, no point in wasting time by doubling back. As he walks, he whistles Zeppelin tunes and before long, the pack have found them. As their company comes together again, Dean pulls Sammy to a stop and begins digging through his brothers satchel. Pulling out the dirty shirts they’d brought along for scenting, Dean passes them around to each of the wolves. Then, ready to move out again, he ties one to his own belt loop. That way if any of the wolves lose the scent or want to compare it, they’ll be able to simply jog up to him and sniff it again.

Seeming to understand, Sam mimics Dean’s actions and then they start walking again. All of them, together. They cross old boundaries and long toppled fences as they go, the sparse trees becoming increasingly dense as they move southward. The worst of the afternoon heat seems to have passed now, but it’s still summer in Kansas. In a heavily wooded area they come upon a small, winding creek and the wolves stop to drink thirstily.

Dean takes the canteen that Sam offers him as they wait on the Wares. Gulping down warm and tinny tasting water, Dean is thinking that if his brother wasn’t here, he’d rather just get down on the bank and drink from the stream with his pack. The moving water is no doubt fresher than what he’s just drunk, and cooler too. But, overly aware that his brother has been watching how he interacts with the wolves, Dean’s unwilling to be anything less than civilized under his curious scrutiny.

They press on, continuing in the same direction. As they progress, the brush gets thicker and so do the trees. They’re in a forest now, and not long after having crossed the stream, Dean’s wolves seem to catch a familiar scent. Sam and Dean break into a run when the Wares do, shouting for their father and Bobby over the baying and howling of the wolves.

Much the same as when they’d found Sam, Cas has to intercede on behalf of Dean’s kin when the humans are found. Hunting by scent must’ve triggered instincts in the pack because they all seem more interested in eating the man they’ve found than in saving him. Dean pushes past the scrapping wolves, primarily Cas and his Grey, to fling himself down next to Bobby on the forest floor.

“Bobby,” he whispers, putting his hands to the man’s bearded face, “Bobby, Bobby!” His uncle seems to be fighting for consciousness, unable to focus on what’s in front of him. Even as Sam kneels down on Bobby’s other side, Dean is already checking the man over for injuries. Pressure on his shin is what finally brings Bobby’s eyes open wide to focus. His faculties seem to return to him and he’s finally able to fully focus on Dean; even speak to him.

“Dammit son,” he curses, “ya tryin’ to kill me?”

“It’s broken,” observes Dean, sitting back on his haunches.

“Well no shit,” grouses Bobby.

“Where’s dad?” Sam is asking, agitated and looking around in the waning light. “Bobby, where’s dad?”

“I’m here,” says a weak voice from a dozen or so yards away. Leaving Dean with Bobby, Sam bolts for their father.

“We’re gonna have to splint this,” says Dean to Bobby. “Gimme a sec to find something.”

“Water,” croaks Bobby.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Dean, tugging Sam’s satchel over to extract the canteen. He passes it to his uncle and then while he’s waiting for the man to drink his fill, Dean turns to Sam and hollers, “How is he?”

“Shot,” answers Sam.

  
“Where?”

“The foot, Dean, and it smells awful.”

“He always smells awful,” jokes Bobby. But Dean knows there’s no point in trying to lighten the mood. If his father’s been shot in the foot and the wound is stinking, then a life threatening infection has taken root. The injury and subsequent infection are grave.

“I’m gonna go give it a look,” says Dean to his uncle, “you keep drinkin’.”

As he crosses over to where his brother is crouched, Dean takes stock of the wolves. No longer fighting, they’re standing still as statues and watching as the number of humans in their midst doubles again. Dean’s actually surprised that Cas doesn’t already have a mutiny on his hands. Paws.

He gives Cas a pleading look, beseeching patience. Seeing the animal dip his head, he knows he’s been granted some. A look at his father confirms Dean’s worst fears. The man is conscious but not lucid. He’s feverish and dehydrated, his lips cracked and flaking. “He ain’t goin’ anywhere on this foot,” he says to Sammy. “We’ve got two men here and neither can walk.”

“You can go,” says Sam. “Get back to town and tell the guards, they’ll give you a truck. We can load them in the back and get them to the hospital.”

Dean nods agreement. It’s their only option. Though, he wishes the hospital were a more hopeful place. There wasn’t a real one within the protection of the wall, so an old neighborhood clinic had been made over for use as a hospital and was being kept stocked as well as possible with what could be scavenged. But, the only real doctor had died almost two years ago. The nurse who’d been helping him was the closest thing to a doctor they had these days.

Standing, Dean says, “Sammy, you stay with them. Get Dad to drink somethin’ and get into that first aid kit. Splint Bobby’s leg if you can and just take care of ‘em best you can til I get back.”

Not even looking up at him, Sam gets started on the tasks at hand. Dean wastes no time either, walking straight to Cas and dropping to one knee. Pleading with his mate, Dean gestures to the injured men and his kneeling brother. “Need ya to stay with them,” he says, hoping Cas will understand him as he’s always seemed to. “I need to go get some help. You watch over him, okay Cas? Watch over my dad and my baby brother.”

Rising again, Dean readies himself for a lonely walk across the Kansas plains. There’s hardly any light left now, it’ll be completely dark before he’s made it even halfway. Digging into the bag, he pulls out his dads leather jacket tugs it on, filling the pockets with ammo. Then, with a gun in each hand, he turns to go. Locking eyes with his wolf as he backs away, Dean once more says, “Watch ‘em, Cas. Keep them safe.”

To his surprise, Cas lets him leave. He’d expected his mate to give him a hard time about striking off on his own, perhaps even try to divide the wolves so that Dean could be accompanied. But, Cas had done nothing but wait for instructions and then comply with them. It was as if he’d instinctually known that this was a time to let Dean make the decisions and call the shots.

It isn’t easy to emerge from the trees alone, but he does it. Moving out onto the open plain under the light of hazy moon, Dean keeps up a quick pace. He doesn’t run, something that he knows would invite any predator to give chase. Instead, he walks as fast as he can and counts the steps as he goes. Every tenth, he spins on his heels to survey the full landscape around him before returning his gaze forward. Systematically watching his back and making steady progress, he’s stunned to have made so far without incident when he sees the lighted city gate come into view.

He crosses the last fifty yards at a run, banging on the corrugated metal doors as he collides with them, shouting to be let in. When they are hauled open to him, Dean rushes inside. There are fires burning in steel barrels and the men are congregated around them to socialize but as the gate closes behind Dean, everyone turns to give him their undivided attention.

“I need a truck,” he shouts to them.

“You found them?” Garth asks incredulously. “Already?”

“Already,” he confirms, holstering one of the weapons.

“Man,” marveles Garth, “we’ve sent out search parties… didn’t find anything… I can’t believe you found them so fast. Where are they?”

“Straight shot south,” he answers, “deep in the woods.”

“Take my truck,” says an old man nearby. “I wouldn’t be any help goin’ out there with you, but you can have my truck and the gas in it.”

“Thanks man,” says Dean, stepping over to take the keys with gratitude. “I’ll get it back to ya as soon as I can.” Then turning back to the man in charge, he says, “Gonna be headin’ straight to the hospital when I get back. My dad’s got a gunshot wound and Bobby’s got a broken leg.”

“I’ll go wake up doc,” nods the man. But Dean knows that the ‘doc’ is just one nurse and a few dedicated but inexperienced volunteers. “You need a few guys to help ya?”

“I think just the truck will do,” replies Dean, secretly hoping that no one would insist on accompanying him. The addition of a few extra hands really wasn’t worth the risk it carried, not considering that the injured men were currently in the company of eight Wares. “But,” he adds, “I’m gonna need a stretcher to get them outta there. We got one?”

“We do,” says the boss man. “I’ll go with you to get it.”

Dean climbs behind the wheel of the old Ford F150 he’s been given use of. Starting it up, he waits for his passenger and then peels off down the street. Turning the corners a bit too fast, he slams the vehicle into park outside of their makeshift hospital and hops down from the cab. Side by side, the men push in through the double doors and enter a waiting area. Though this front part of the building was always lit and always open, it is only manned when a patient is being kept overnight on the premises. So, there is currently no one around to assist them. Moving back into the exam areas, they split apart, each taking a different hallway in search of what they need.

Dean’s found nothing when his own hall ends at the far side of the building. Seeing the exit sign over a back door, Dean doubles back again and when he’s was about halfway back to the entrance he hears his companion shout, “I got one!”

“That ain’t gonna work,” he says, coming around the corner to see a modern metal gurney with legs and wheels. “It’s rough terrain,” he explains, “I need somethin’ that we can just carry.”

“I think it folds up,” says the man, sinking to one knee to examine the underside of it. They waste several minutes trying to figure the contraption out, but eventually they manage to fold the legs and wheels up under it and lock it into that position. Loading it into the bed of the truck, Dean says, “Thanks man.”

“Mitch” he replies, reaching out for a quick handshake as though they’ve just been introduced. And, technically, they have. Though the man’s face is familiar to Dean, they’ve never actually spoken to one another before. Racing around to jump back in the cab again, they pile in together to return to the gate. Dean drives wildly through the empty streets and Mitch looks over at him in the dashboard lights and says, “Your old man must be in a bad way.”

“He’s gonna lose a leg,” Dean says solemnly. “And he’s enough of a bastard already. Don’t wanna give him any excuse to get rougher around the edges.”

The man chuckles at Deans words, though he’s only half joking. When they come racing up to the gate again, Dean slows to let the man climb out. “I’ll come with you,” he counters.

“Nah, stay here,” Dean replies. “Make sure the damn nurse knows what’s comin’ her way… an old drunk with a broken leg and one ornery ass with a gangrene bullet wound to the foot. Maybe see if you can find Ellen, Bobby’s wife, and let her know he's been found. You know," he adds, "Just make sure nobody drops the ball tonight.”

“Alright,” he agrees, hopping out. Then, as he slams the door shut behind him, Dean hears Mitch yelling, “Open the gate.”

Driving out into the wilderness, he watches the crude metal doors to the city close behind him in the rear view mirror. The terrain is rough outside the city, truck bouncing around on mounds of prairie grass and dead shrubs. His headlights streak skyward each time he hits the gas to climb a small hill and then swoop back down low once he’s crested it. 

It’s a fine line, he thinks, pushing the vehicle as hard as he can without actually damaging it. He slows considerably as the trees begin to get thicker, weaving around them the best he can until it’s clear that he can drive no further.

Getting out, he arms himself again. Sadly, this time he’s only got one hand for a weapon. The other is needed for the gurney. He carries it for a while, until it’s too heavy. Then, he’s left with no other choice but to drag it along behind him. His progress is slowed considerably at this point, because the legs folded beneath the contraption snag on every bush and branch he stumbles across.

When crossing the stream he lifts it again, carrying it tight to his body with his other hand gripping his weapon tight and his eyes continually scanning the darkness for any encroaching threat. Crossing the calf deep water with no regard for anything but the minutes he’s wasting if he slows, Dean curses under his breath at the tears of helplessness and hopelessness that well in the corners of his eyes. All they do is limit his ability to see and it’s frustrating to be incapable of willing them away. Eventually he realizes that it’s easier to simply let them fall. His eyes are clearer after that and he finds that he feels a bit better once he isn’t focused on them anymore.

By the time he arrives on the scene, Dean’s feeling beat to all hell. His feet have been slip sliding around inside his wet boots and there are blisters on his blisters. His ankles above the rim of his boots are shredded from having tender wet skin force their way through brambles and thorns. There’s literally weeds and stems wrapped around his ankles at this point and he’s dragging them with him as he trudges through the underbrush. He’s breathing so hard that he can barely speak when Sam comes stumbling up to him.

“We need a light,” he says between panted breaths.

Sammy bounds off to grab a flashlight that he’d left with Bobby and Dean physically startles when he feels purposeful movement in the tangles around his left ankle. Turning, he sees that it’s Cas. The wolf is showing concern in his eyes as he bends at the neck to lick Dean’s wounds. “Not now,” he whispers angrily, shaking his foot to keep his mate away. Yes, he’s got bigger things to worry about than some minor cuts and abrasions right now, but he also doesn’t want his brother to see him being tenderly looked after by a wolf.

“I think we’ve made it just in time,” says Sam upon returning. “Dad’s not doin’ so good.”

“Well,” says Dean, gesturing to the gurney, “guess we’d better get him outta here then.”

Bending to pick up the ass end of the stretcher, Sam then follows Dean over to their father. The gurney is infinitely easier to carry with two men and Dean is thrilled to see how quickly they can move with it as a team. Laying it down beside their father, the brothers position themselves at shoulders and knees. Giving a three count to unify them, Dean lurches in sync with Sam, and they lift their father onto the gurney in one easy movement. John Winchester, however, comes awake as it happens and lets out a howl that would rival Dean’s alpha wolf. “We’ve gotcha, Dad,” says Dean.

Even as Sam is working to buckle the man onto the stretcher, Dean is bent over their father to reassure him. His brother had been right, though. John Winchester isn’t in his right mind and his skin is so dry and hot to the touch that Dean can’t believe his blood isn’t boiling underneath it. Once their load is secured, the brothers position themselves at opposite ends and lift. It’s not easy navigating in the dark, but they’ll have to manage. Neither has a hand free with which to hold a flashlight and John’s in no condition to even try.

As they cautiously maneuver past the wolves and away from the scene, Dean turns to his Ware and says, “Stay with him.” Tipping his head to indicate Bobby, Dean repeats the order and continues walking. A few paces later, he looks back over his shoulder and sees that the wolves have tightened their circle. Previously it had included the wounded men and Sam. Now only Bobby is in the center. He meets Cas’s eye as he walks away, hoping his wolf can see the infinite gratitude there.

“They’re amazing,” marvels Sam, clearly referring to the wolves.

“Uh-huh,” Dean agrees, not really in the mood to chat.

“Dean,” implores Sam, “what’s the plan?”

“Don’t trip,” he says sternly. But, despite his gruff demeanor, his brother laughs out loud. “There’s a truck at the edge of the woods,” he adds.

“How far is it?”

“Quarter mile at least.”

“Then what?” asks Sam. “We gonna just leave dad in the truck alone and unguarded while we go back for Bobby?”

“No,” he answers firmly. “I honestly don’t think there’s time for that. We’re takin’ him in and then we’ll come back.”

“It’s gonna be a long nite for Bobby,” laughs Sam.

Dean joins his brother in laughter then, realizing that Bobby was already half out of his head from dehydration already, and now he’d been left alone in the woods at night… and surrounded by Wares nonetheless.

“You took his gun, right?” Dean asks.

“Of course,” Sam grins. “He’ll be okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, far more sure of Bobby’s situation than his fathers’.

Despite the gurney being easier with two men carrying it, the added weight of John Winchester makes up the difference and their progress is slow – especially when crossing the stream. As Sam is quick to point out, dropping the stretcher in the creek could easily drown their father, even if they are relatively quick in retrieving it. Their dad just isn’t hanging on by much.

Once they’re across the creek, the rest of the journey goes quickly, the landscape getting easier to navigate as the trees thin out and allow the moons light to reach the ground. Able to see their feet now, the brothers can move much faster. Soon, they’re loading their precious cargo into the bed of the truck. Sam climbs in beside John, telling Dean he’ll ride in the back to insure their father is okay.

Dean nods and climbs back behind the wheel. This time, he’s got to drive a lot slower. He can’t risk injury to either his father or brother by careening over the landscape the way he had before - when the bed of the truck had been empty. When they finally near the gate, Dean begins blowing the horn to alert those inside that he’s back. The gates are swinging open by the time he reaches them and Dean plows right through without slowing. Back on pavement now, he’s able to speed up and he races to the hospital.

When they arrive, he’s glad to see the nurse and her crew come running out to meet them. Throwing the truck in park, Dean climbs out to assist as his father is pulled from the truck bed. The nurse makes it look easy, her hands flying to the release button that drops the legs of the gurney. They snap as they lock into place. She and her helpers swing it around like professionals, running with it to get the injured man inside as quickly as possible.

Dean and Sam stand in the doorway of a standard exam room that’s been converted to more of a trauma room. They peer in awkwardly to watch as the nurse calls out instructions to her assistants. They assess Johns condition and get an IV inserted into his arm. As the team works on him, one of their number peels away from the action long enough to come and speak to them. “He’s critical,” she tells them, as if they hadn’t already known that.

Biting down the snide remark that’s welling up in his throat, Dean wills himself to keep silent and let her continue. “We’re giving him fluid and antibiotics. His heartbeat is weak and his oxygen level is dangerously low so we’re also giving him something to strengthen his heart. That should help it beat harder without speeding up and hopefully his oxygenation will improve. Once he’s stable, we’ll take a closer look at his foot.”

“When will we know if he can keep it?” Dean asks. Sam gapes at him, but Dean doesn’t look away from the young woman sent to council them.

“I can’t promise anything,” she says firmly. “At this point we don’t even know if he’ll make it through the night, let alone whether or not he’ll keep the foot.”

Shocked, but not really, Dean turns to Sam. The kid’s mouth is still hanging open. “C’mon kid,” he says, dropping an arm around his shoulders to steer him out. “They’ve got work to do and we’ve still got a man down out there.”

“Mom’s still out there too,” Sam replies, face an inch from crumpling.

“Keep it together,” he says firmly. “We can fall apart later, when everyone’s back inside the wall.”

Sam nods agreement, swipes the back of a fist across his cheek to wipe off an errant tear, and then follows Dean out into the night. They drive back through the gate, out into the dark. Once again free to drive faster, Dean does, and beside him in the passenger seat it’s all Sam can do to hang on. He smacks his head on the roof a few times, cursing aloud but never suggesting that they slow down.

In comparison to getting their father to the truck, Bobby is considerably easier. First of all, the wolves follow along with them, keeping them within a circle of safety so that Dean doesn’t have to feel exposed and fearful as he and his brother navigate back to the truck in the dark. Second of all, and most importantly, Bobby doesn’t need the stretcher. He’s got one good leg and pride that wouldn’t have allowed him to ride when he could walk. So, stretched between Dean and Sam, he hobbles on one leg with his other splinted and they make the journey without much incident. Well, except for the cursing that all three slip into when wading through the cold creek.

It’s nearly dawn when they finally have Bobby loaded in the truck. He’s able to sit in the cab and Sam has already slid in beside him when Dean finally turns to the wolves. “Thanks,” he says to them, hoping they understand. Then, he turns to Cas. The wolf looks at him as if awaiting instructions. Dean gives none. Instead, he reaches out a hand and cups Cas’s face with it, fingers twisting into the soft hair. Bringing his fist into that hair and then cradling the wolfs chin, he looks into wide blue eyes and says, “I’ll be back.”

The alpha steps into Dean, then, licking the side of his face. “See you at home,” he says, and then he turns away to climb back into the truck. The wolves watch him go under a pastel sky, and he glances at their figures in the rear view mirror several times as they grow smaller behind him.

“What’ll they do?” asks Sam.

“Head home,” answers Dean.

“They won’t wait for you?”

“I didn’t ask them to,” he says. “Don’t even know how long I’ll be. Depends on Dad, I guess. And mom.”

Between them, Bobby stirs a little. He’s been in and out of consciousness and only semi-lucid until now, sometimes slipping into a dreamlike state where he talks to people who aren’t there. But, so far he’s been easily brought back to reality when they shout his name. But now, perhaps because he’s realized that he’s been rescued, the man seems to have given up. Slumped over against Sam, he’s out cold. As they drive slowly over the grassy lumps and bumps towards the city, he occasionally rouses for a moment before falling back into unconsciousness.

When they arrive at the hospital, Bobby is expertly extracted from the cab of the truck and taken inside on a gurney. Sam and Dean are told that that their father is “still hanging on,” but is not conscious. They’re invited to come in and sit with him, but both decline. “If he wakes,” says Dean firmly, “tell him we’ve gone to look for mom.”

“Alright,” nods the nurse, and then she’s leaving them. Hopping back into the cab, Dean drives back to the gate with his brother and inquires about keeping the truck a bit longer. Granted permission, the brothers then head back to the Winchester home. This time, they leave a note for Aunt Ellen to let her know that they’ve gone out to look for Mary. They add that they hope once she finds this note, she’ll stay at the hospital with the injured men, and that they love her.

Then, they head back to the master bedroom and once more start digging through the dirty clothes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've finished the story, but the final chapter wound up being so long that I've had to split it half. This chapter has been edited (I use that word loosely) and now that it's posted, I will get to work editing the other half. The minute I'm finished, I will update and the story will be complete. Also, for anyone who happens to reading Exploitation or Candle in the Window, both of those are soon to be updated as well (Exploitation first).  
> As a side note, I can't be the only one with mixed emotions as we prepare for the end of SPN. Hugs to everyone as we all brace ourselves for what's coming.

It’s hot again today, the sweltering heat heavy with humidity. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. Turning back towards the city, Dean uses the wall and the unique shapes of the buildings within it to track their position as they move across the open grasslands in search of Mary.

The brothers, centered inside a protective formation of Wares, have been searching all night and into a new day without stopping. Both had considered heading back to town early this morning, desperately wanting an update on their father’s condition. But despite being relatively close to civilization at that moment, they’d known that venturing back would mean forfeiting precious hours that could’ve been spent searching for their mother and neither had been willing to allow it.

From beside him, Sam softly says, “It’s way past lunch.”

Turning, Dean sees his brother looking heavenward, likely guessing the time based on the suns current position. Thinking that his brother is hungry, Dean tugs the satchel from his shoulder without breaking stride. Digging into it as he walks, he probes the contents in search of food and comes up empty. “I don’t think there’s anything left,” he sighs. 

“I’m not hungry,” Sammy replies. “It’s just that, well, mom left around lunch time. So that means she’s been missing four full days now. Full twenty-four hour days, Dean. Four.”

"I know,” he allows, tugging the pack back onto his shoulder. He can understand his kid brother feeling a bit disheartened. The wolves had caught a promising scent several times now, filling the brothers with hope as they bounded along behind only to be let down again and again. “But ya know,” Dean continues, “findin’ dad and Bobby so quick like that… that was a fluke. They hunt all the time - that means that their scent is all over the damned place. I’m surprised we didn’t have a half-dozen disappointments before we finally tracked 'em down.”

“Mom doesn’t hunt,” groused Sam.

“No, but she's been out lookin' for Dad for days now. Every time she stops the car somewhere and gets out, even if it's just to piss, she leaves her scent behind. There's a lot of false trails out here is what I'm sayin' Sammy. We gotta be patient."

“I s’pose,” his younger brother concedes. But his shoulders remain slumped and there's a hang-dog look on his face that indicates a mounting sense of doom.

Of course Dean's feeling it too. The longer their mother is missing, the less likely it becomes that they'll find her in one piece. Seeking to reassure Sam, Dean cups his hand over the back of the boy’s gritty, sweaty neck. “We’ll find her,” he promises. But, even as he says the words, there's a voice in the back of his head reminding him that he can't really be sure. If they persist long enough, they'll eventually find the car. That, however, is the only thing that's relatively certain. 

“You seem pretty sure that Dad’s gonna lose his foot,” says Sam.

It seems like the kid is just trying to change the subject but Dean answers him anyway, knowing that he needs to set some realistic expectations. Squinting against the sun, he takes a deep breath and says, “If he keeps that foot, it’ll be a miracle.”

“I can’t picture it."

“Picture what? Dad with a peg leg?” Dean is teasing, hoping to lighten things up. His brother pulls out from under the weight of his hand though, clearly not finding humor in his words. Or, perhaps just unwilling to allow his mood to be lifted.

“I can’t imagine him broken like that,” Sam admits, “gimping around on crutches or whatever. I mean, he’s Dad.”

The kid has a point. There is just something about John Winchester… he’s always been larger than life. Even when he concentrates, it's difficult for Dean to picture their father disabled like that. Injured? Sure. Cranky, demanding, and downright infuriating as he recovers – absolutely. But permanently reduced to one leg? Unable to run, or even hop down from the bed of a pick-up truck? Try as he may, Dean honestly can’t see it.

“Gimme the odds,” says his brother, pulling Dean from his contemplations.

“Odds of what,” he tries to clarify, “losing the foot?”

“Dean,” says Sam firmly, stopping in his tracks. “Give me the odds that he’s gonna live.”

Dean stops too and turns to face his brother. The kid is eye to eye with him. Toe to toe. Gangly as hell, but undeniably the same height as Dean, teetering on the verge of passing him up. The baby fat is almost gone from his face, but even on the cusp of his adulthood, Sammy still has puppy-dog eyes. Hearing him ask the question aloud is gut-wrenching. Having to try and answer it is even worse. “Dunno,” he finally admits with a shrug. Then he follows it up with, “I ain't a doctor.”

“Yeah, well, neither is his doctor,” counters Sam, staring Dean down and practically daring him to try and make a joke.

“He’ll make it,” Dean says, looking past his kid brother and off at the horizon as the words are spoken. Around them, the pack had halted shortly after they did and are now waiting with curious stares, likely uncertain of why progress has halted.

"You really think so?" asks Sam, his chin quivering.

"Yeah," says Dean. "I do."

"What makes you think so?" he pushes, clearly just seeking something to pin his hopes to.

"He just has to," he asserts, unable to provide a logical reason. In response, Sam shoves past him and resumes walking. Dean takes a deep breath and looks over at Cas. The Ware has been intently focused on him since Sam's arrival. It's possible that he's just contemplating the events as they transpire, but it seems more likely that his Ware is trying to figure out the deeper nuances of what it all means and how it will impact their lives. Or, perhaps, he's just wondering when his human bitch will stop rebuffing all his acts of solidarity and affection.

The intricacies of human societal norms and family pressures would likely be lost on Cas even if Dean were capable of explaining them, which he isn’t. It’s clear that the Alpha is aware that something is wrong – something to do with the part of Dean’s life that Cas isn’t a part of. A certain measure of patience is being afforded him, even as the pack divides its members to lend assistance. For that, Dean is grateful. And, as he silently ponders his father’s fate, he glances from Cas to his brother and back. The kid is a few paces ahead of Dean now, obviously sulking, and Dean uses his eyes to silently plead for more patience from his alpha.

The answering look he receives tells Dean that his wolfs patience is nowhere near exhausted – and that, for Dean, it is infinite. Steadied by the unspoken declaration from his mate, Dean resumes walking. Catching up to his brother and falling into step with him again, Dean opens his mouth to speak.

“Don’t bother,” bristles Sammy. “I can tell you don’t think he’s gonna make it.”

“It’s not that,” Dean tries.

“No, it’s cool,” insists his brother. “I mean, for you it’s cool. You’ve always been dad's favorite. The good son... the one he's proud of. If he dies, you’ll be sad and you'll say your good-byes and you’ll miss him. It’s different for me, Dean. I argue with him, like, all the time. It’s only gotten worse since you left. Honestly, if he dies, he’s gonna die thinkin’ I hated him.”

“Why would he think that?” Dean asks, still keeping pace with the kid.

“Because I told him so the last time I saw him,” snaps Sam, staring straight ahead as they continue on. The wolves have spread out again, keeping Dean and Sam in a protected position at their center as they follow their noses across the grasslands. Taking a deep breath, Dean thinks back on how things were when he still lived at home. Sure, there had been some friction between father and son, but Dean had always assumed it was mostly because Sam was the baby of the family. Their mother doted on him, and their father was always trying to get him to man up.

But in all fairness, that might be an over-simplification on Deans part. John Winchester had always been an easy man to admire and a hard man to live with. Pleasing him hadn't been easy for Dean. But, admittedly, Sam might not know the struggle that it had been for him... always doing and saying what he knew he _should_ rather than what he had really _wanted_ to. And sometimes, even when he’d done his best, he’d wound up missing the mark with John.

Additionally, Dean has to admit that Sam is cut from a different cloth. As such, his brothers perceptions about their father might be vastly different than his own. Perhaps the problems between their dad and Sam had run deeper than he'd ever guessed. But, in response to his brothers admission, he answers quickly and firmly. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, looking over at his brother and speaking honestly. "No matter what’cha said, Sammy, it doesn’t matter. Dad knows you love him and he loves you too.”

Still keeping pace with him, Dean’s brother nods his head once. Fearful that his words have been dismissed as placation, Dean tries again. “Sammy, look at me,” he orders.

Once again, he’s hit with the full force of those puppy-dog eyes - the kind only a baby brother can give you. “He loves you…” insists Dean, keeping their eyes locked so that the truth of his words can’t be denied, “… and he knows you love him too.”

When his doe-eyed brother breaks, Dean turns his gaze away from the boy. Cupping his hand at the nape of his brother’s neck once more, he keeps his eyes locked on the horizon so the kid wont feel he's being witnessed in his weakness as the tears begin to fall. When he feels Sam reach up to swipe the moisture from his cheeks, he knows it's safe to look again. Once again, they resume walking. Quickening his pace to keep up with the Wares, Dean re-focuses on the mission at hand.

Surveying the rolling hills in the distance, Dean catches sight of some familiar landmarks and realizes that as they crest the next hill, they’ll nearly be walking right over the packs Southern Den. Still keeping his hand on his brother, Dean looks over at his Alpha. When their gaze meets, they hold it for a moment while each searches the eyes of the other. He’s briefly caught up in it, and then interrupted by his brother.

“What’s that?” asks Sam, stopping short.

Also coming to a stop, Dean sees that the kid is pointing at a cluster of trees on the next rise. Squinting in the afternoon sun, Dean pulls his hand from the nape of his brothers neck so he can shield his eyes. Narrowing his gaze, he tries to focus on the flutter of muted color in the distance but can't quite grasp what he's seeing. When Sam prompts him again, asking what they're seeing, he has to admit he doesn't know. Still staring at it, he fumbles blindly for the binoculars hanging from his neck. Once he can peer through them, he carefully adjusts for depth as he searches out the anomaly. When he finally locks onto the sight with magnification, he simply says, "We gotta get a closer look.” 

Without further discussion, the two resume walking, adjusting their course to intercept. Covering the open ground at a brisk pace, both begin pushing faster as they approach and curiosity begins to outweigh their caution and patience. The wolves seem to pick up on the sense of urgency shared by the brothers because they're moving faster too. Their ears are pricked forward and their hackles are raised. Communicating silently amongst themselves as they scent the air and listen for encroaching dangers, the pack keep their human charges centered amid their number and Dean can't even begin to measure his gratitude for their protection in this moment.

Despite having no idea what they're walking into Dean can sense danger, he can feel it in his bones. It's all around them. The bright blue sky and cheerful wildflowers do nothing to assuage the dread that's been slowly creeping up on him, only now becoming strong enough that it demands to be acknowledged. Considerably closer now, Dean stops to take another look through the binoculars. His brother keeps walking without him and Dean can feel it when the pack stop with him rather than continue with his brother. It's unnatural to allow distance between himself and Sam right now, especially when it would seem that his pack is only protecting his brother by default... that his proximity to Dean is the only thing keeping Sammy safe right now. Still, despite his prickling nerves Dean takes the time to adjust the binoculars. Not only does he want a closer look at the object that has drawn them here, but he'd like to survey the surrounding area before they press any closer. 

The cluster of trees ahead is relatively small, the first of many that pepper the landscape and get progressively larger before being swallowed up in the forest that sprawls the horizon line south of them. Despite its small size, the grove could be hiding dangers. The base of the trees is obscured, not just by bramble but by shadows from the canopy of branches above. But, before allowing himself to visually scour the thicket, Dean zeroes in on the unnatural color and shape that had brought them here. “Mom,” he whispers, suddenly realizing what they’ve been seeing. Then, he’s running.

His Wares react instantaneously, silently matching his pace. He's trusting their senses as he pushes ahead recklessly. Catching up to Sammy in a few strides, he softly repeats, "Mom," as he comes alongside him. The gangly teen surges forward in response, matching Dean's pace but not pulling ahead despite undoubtedly in possession of a naturally longer stride. The uneven ground is treacherous as they cross it side by side, but neither brother falls. Dean frequently glances as his mate as they move in formation, and he can read the non-verbal ques well enough to know that the wolves sense danger from all around. His mate is closing the distance between them in response, closer to Dean now than he's been all day. Glimpses of his Alpha as they run also inform Dean that the wolves have no idea what has excited the humans in their midst or why they've begun to run, but the wares are eager to find out.

With his backpack thumping awkwardly, Dean whips the binoculars from around his neck without slowing. He has to hold them so they won't bang against his body as they run, but it's awkward keeping his fist tethered to his neck. “What is it?” his brother pants from beside him.

“A flag,” he answers, trying to convey as much as he can with as few words as possible. He's already short of breath. 

“Mom?”

Hopeful but still not certain, Dean answers with, “Think so. Maybe.”

The shoulder-high prairie grasses are thin and wispy up high, bending in the breeze. But, nearer to the ground they are thick and tangled with underbrush. Holes, clumps, and even stumps threaten to trip them as they pound their way down one hill and up the side of the next. Threats like poisonous snakes are shoved to the back of Dean's mind as he careens through the brush but exertion is taking hold. The brothers are growing clumsy as they ascend the final hill. They continue on, even though they can't actually see the flag from their current position. Dean's thighs are starting to burn with the effort of running uphill on rough terrain. The wolves, seemingly unaffected, make a visible effort to slow for their human companions as they near the summit. Closer now and hopeful, Dean begins to call out for his mother despite being winded and Sammy joins him. That's when all hell breaks loose. 

The first wolves have just reached the top when a fierce snarl cuts through the air. Dean pulls up short, reaching for his brother. He misses the kids shoulder and gets only a fistful of backpack. Seeking to break Sam's momentum, he keeps an iron grip as he drops to his knees. It works. Sam goes down hard, just a single stride ahead of him. Scrambling to close the distance between them, Dean's ears pick up the sound of a vicious fight as he scuttles forward. It's close. Too damned close. The ground under him reverberates as the weight of a heavy animal crashes down nearby and a single snarl has now morphed into a cacophony of growling and gnashing of teeth. They're under attack. Fearful for his brother and his mate in near equal measure, Dean practically crawls up on top of Sam as he simultaneously tries to hold the kid down but also seeks to see over him.

Through the sea of billowing grasses, Dean gets a glimpse of his mate lunging forward. With his brother now subdued at his feet, Dean rises. Searching the vicinity for a clue about what’s going on, he's already abandoned the binoculars for his gun. Pulling it from his waist, Dean follows into the space where he's just seen Cas disappear. "Stay behind me," he tells Sam, not bothering to look back. At this point he's trusting Sammy to do as he's told. Keeping low as he stalks forward, Dean disengages the safety on his weapon and points it ahead of him. Doing his best to make sense of the sights and sounds around him, Dean can only surmise that they've been attacked by another pack. The brief flashes of movement he sees reinforce the theory. Looking past tumbling bodies locked in bloody combat, Dean searches the fray for black fur. Only when he finds it does he stand fully erect and begin to run. Hoping that his brother will stay behind him, the safest place he could possibly be in this moment, Dean charges ahead until he's within a dozen feet of his mate. 

Naturally slower than Cas, Dean can barely keep his eyes focused as his alpha tumbles through the brush. Tangled with the cream colored Alpha of a rival pack, Cas is ferocious as the two tumble head over haunches. Fighting to get a single paw to the ground, his mouth is locked open until he does. Then, in the blink of an eye, he's buried his face in a thick mane of light fur. Suddenly there's a spray of red. Hot blood arcs high and then falls to splatter over the vegetation. Even as the cream colored alpha struggles, Dean can see that the animal has met its end. Cas, savage and blood-thirsty, keeps his jowls locked at the neck of the dying ware until every limb goes still. 

A battle is raging around them, every single wolf now engaged in combat, but that doesn't stop Dean from taking a single moment to admire his mate as it kills. Apex predator of the Kansas plains and the singular master of Dean's own heart, the beast finally releases his death grip on the enemy. Raising his head, he looks over at Dean. Their gaze connects for just a heartbeat and then Dean's firing. His weapon hand, as always, had been pointed right over Cas's head. Having hunted with the pack for so long now, it's habit. It's his default position. 

As Cas had been killing the white alpha wolf, another had been closing in. Dean just hadn't seen it yet. Opposite him, it had come charging at Cas and straight into Dean's line of fire. The very second that it's ruddy brown head had come into view, Dean had already been squeezing the trigger. Easily switching from an admiration of his mate to saving its life, Dean fires off three rounds in quick succession. Absorbing the shots, the charging brown ware crumples to the ground just a few feet from Cas.

Keeping his gun pointed outward, Dean spins in a circle. Taking stock of the battlefield around him, he sees that the grasses are already painted crimson. The air is flooded with angry snarls and the sound of colliding bodies, the clash of teeth and tearing flesh. Menacing growls and yips of pain. The shots he'd fired seem to have taken the challenging wolves by surprise, their reactionary pause providing a momentary advantage for Dean's own pack. As they each seize the opportunity provided them, Dean goes completely still. Blinking under the suns harsh glare, he struggles to make sense of what he's seeing. Far off, veiled in the shadow of a tree, and barely perceptible through a sea of swaying grasses, is something big and black.

“Sammy,” he shouts, his eyes devouring the sight of shimmering jet-black paint. “Sammy!”

The response from his brother comes from behind him and right over his shoulder. Dean's relieved that his brother is still with him and in a position of relative safety. In the middle of a bloody war between packs, Dean stands still and points and then both he and Sammy let out a celebratory shout as they realize they've located the Impala.

Returning his attention to the battle, Dean looks from one combatant to the next as he seeks out a scuffle he can help to win. The Grey, he finds, is moving slower than usual, likely having sustained an injury, and Dean is able to lock on the beast that his packmate is brawling with. Squeezing off a well-placed shot, Dean smiles to himself as he watches the targeted animal go limp. The Grey looks over at Dean for a beat as he seemingly realizes what's happened. With a nod of appreciation, the wolf then turns to a nearby skirmish and leaps into it. Leaving The Grey to help finish that fight, two-on-one, Dean once more begins turning as he surveys the war going on around him. His eyes search through flashes of teeth and claws in search of an altercation where he might be of assistance. 

He and Sammy are still centered within a protective circle of Wares, but each of them is locked in combat. Fearful of accidently shooting one of his own, Dean searches out fights that have slowed... any skirmish where someone is about to die. Finding one such altercation, he takes a step closer to aim and quickly fires. This time he's not helping a packmate win, he's saving its life. As the beast drops dead from his single shot, Dean watches a wolf that he'd long-ago nicknamed Scrappy crawl out from under the dead weight of its enemy. Much like The Grey, it acknowledges his act of assistance with a nod before turning back to the battle. Breaking into a run, it heads for the nearest fight-in-progress and jumps in to assist.

Hearing a grunt he recognizes, Dean turns to the right in search of his mate. Finding Cas pinned down, Dean prepares to fire on the top mutt. But, before he can pull the trigger, his mate has turned the tables. Scrambling out from under the enemy, Cas turns to lunge. It's beautifully executed, but he comes up empty. The two square off and Dean holds his breath as his finger hovers over the trigger. Knowing that Cas tends to favor his right, Dean prepares for the shot. When his alpha makes a move, he shoots without hesitation. A yelp rises from the ware and a small red circle on its side quickly doubles in size. Sinking down to the dirt, it's already dying when Cas leaps in to take it by the neck and finish it off. 

With Cas safe, Dean's free to acquire another target. Turning, he sees an opportunity and takes it. Firing his last bullet, Dean manages to assist one more wolf before he has to stop and reload. Dropping to his knees, he reaches around to pull his pack off. Knowing that Sammy will watch his back, Dean focuses on digging out the ammo. By the time he's ready to engage again, the tide has turned in their favor. Each time an opposing Ware dies, their pack are one less in number and one of Dean's own is free to double-up on another combatant. At this point there are two or more wolves from his own pack on each of their attackers. In less than a minute, the few who remain of their enemy are limping off in an attempt to retreat. 

Sam and Dean watch as The Brown and The Grey charge off after the retreating wolves, several others following to assist in dispatching them. Deans eyes search out Cas and find him. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees his mate uninjured and standing proudly in the middle of the battlefield. Their gaze connects and holds as Dean drops a hand to Sammy's shoulder. "Thanks," he says aloud, though he could be speaking to either his brother or the wolf. Likely both. 

From beside him, Sam answers by saying, "Mom."

"Yeah," he replies, letting his eyes pull away from Cas. With the war between packs over, Dean can turn his full attention to the task at hand - finding Mary Winchester. Since the Impala is here, logic dictates that she must be nearby. The flag they'd followed to reach this place was hers, he's certain of it now. His mind quickly sorts through the details, following a path of likely scenarios to an understanding of what probably happened.

His mother, for some unknown reason, had been separated from her car by this rival pack of Wares. Clearly she'd climbed a tree to evade them and then been stuck there as they prowled around waiting to feed on her if she came down or fell. When she'd lost hope of escape, Mary had probably taken off the flannel over-shirt she was wearing and tied it to the highest branch she could access - hoping that the sight of it would bring rescue. It had, Dean realizes, and now he's just hoping that they're not too late to bring her back alive. 

The ground is trampled now, the grasses matted to the earth and soaked in blood. The bodies of dead and dying wolves are scattered about and as they begin to walk through the carnage, Dean watches his brother fire a shot into the head of one that's still squirming. Between the two of them, Sammy had always been the kinder and more empathetic. Unwilling to allow suffering, even in by an enemy, Sam continues putting a slug into those who are injured but still alive as they move forward.

Mournful howls from a distance indicate that Dean's own pack is currently dispatching the last of the pack who've ambushed them here. As he and Sam cross the battlefield and head for the tree line, Dean’s own pack are taking stock of themselves. 

With his gaze sweeping from one packmate to the next, he's thrilled to see that none have been shot. They’re bloody though, some limping and whimpering. Those without injury immediately begin comforting the others, nuzzling them and licking their wounds. Cas seems to be going around to each wolf, checking them and measuring the toll that this battle has taken. Leaving Cas to his work, Dean turns eyes to his brother. The kid is obviously shell-shocked, his body showing signs of distress that his carefully composed face doesn't give away. 

"You okay?" he asks, falling in step with Sam as they leave the battlegrounds behind.

"That was..." Sam's voice trails off as he searches for words and doesn't find them.

Dean, unable to even imagine how his brother feels right now, wants to be reassuring. He pauses to pull the young man into an embrace and Sammy falls into his arms with a boyish vulnerability that tugs at Dean's heartstrings. He gives the kid a thump on the back as they pull apart, trusting that it will convey his solidarity. “You’re a damned good shot, kid,” he says, hoping his words will bolster the young man. It's not a lie, either. He'd seen Sam take one enemy down, clean, and knew there had likely been more.

Sam nods acknowledgement but his eyes are glazed and far away. “Mom,” he says again softly. It’s then that Dean realizes that his brother isn’t in shock. His eyes are distant because he’s searching for signs of their mother. Returning his weapon to its resting place at his waist, Dean takes the lead and heads deeper into the trees.

“Mom?” he calls. There’s no answer. He's louder when he calls out again and soon he's shouting. They both are. Having now entered the grove of trees, they can't see her flag to find her. They can only press on, moving it what feels like the right direction. When they finally hear an answering yell, the brothers both sigh deep relief and then they’re running again. Following her voice to the base of knotty old pine, they crash into the lower branches of the tree. Cuts and scrapes be damned, they hoist themselves up from branch to branch until their upstretched, eager arms are making contact with her boots. Assisting her as the three of them then climb back down, she's shaky and crying with relief when they're finally on the ground. 

Hugging tightly, the three linger for quite some time before beginning the return journey. As they hike, she explains what had happened to her and it's pretty much what he'd suspected. Sam dotes on her as they make slow progress. He brushes her hair from her face, fusses over her superficial wounds, and tells her how scared he’d been when she left and didn’t come home. 

When Sam has had all his questions answered, the tables turn and their mother begins asking questions of them. They give her the good news that John and Bobby have been found and then answer her rapid-fire questions the best they can. But, sadly, they have no update on John’s condition since his rescue and are forced to admit that when they'd left him to come and look for her, his survival hadn't been a sure thing.

Her breakdown is swift and immediate as she comes to understand things. But through her tears, Dean sees an expression of determination settle over her features. She swipes moisture from her eyes with the backs of her dirty hands and says, “Well boys, let’s go see about your father.” Heading for the Impala, she pushes past them to take the lead as she says it. Before he's even able to catch up and slow her progress, Dean sees his mother stumble upon the battlefield. 

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she breathes, surveying the carnage. “I mean, we know that the Wares are territorial and occasionally fight over boundaries, but I’ve never seen anything like this.” Both he and Sam come to a stop, framing her on either side as she takes it all in. As her gaze roves over the open area, Dean sees what she hasn't yet - his pack. They're converged in the shade nearby. Most of them are laying down, panting and obviously exhausted. The injured are licking their wounds and Dean wants to head over there and assist as his Alpha and the higher ranking wolves as they try to care for the pack. 

Seeing their human packmate plus two more brings a few snuffs and wooffles from the group. Sam might not perceive it yet, but Dean knows that they're not exactly thrilled to see the number of humans in their midst increasing again. 

"Lemme get you guys to the car," Dean says, hoping Sam will pick up on the deeper meaning behind his words. 

Likely for no reason other than to show Dean that he understands, Sam replies by speaking to Mary as he pulls her forward, "Yeah, Mom, let's get you back to the car."

"Wait. Boys. Do you see-

Hoping to stop her before she can give voice to whatever thought is forming, Dean interrupts his mother. "We know," he says, "Let's get you to the car."

"Are they-

“Don’t worry ‘bout them," Dean says as he and his brother continue to guide her. She hesitates a few more times as they cross the bloody landscape but, centered between her sons, she allows herself to pulled through the carnage. Already, there are flies swarming to the carcasses and Dean is keenly aware that other animals will soon converge on the site as well. His own pack will likely want to feed. Regardless of how well fed they are, this is fresh meat.

When they finally get to the Impala, the brothers deposit Mary on the passenger side of the front seat. Looking to Dean, Sammy asks, "You comin' with us?" 

"I'm right behind ya," he answers, gesturing for his brother to go around to the driver's side.

He follows Sammy around the car, opening the door for his brother. Once he's inside, Dean pushes the door shut and leans in the open window. He watches his brothers eyes dart over to Mary and then back to rest on him. "Don't be too long," he says. The keys dangle from the ignition and they rattle as Sam clumsily takes hold of them. The engine turns over on the first try and Dean gives his brother a nod as he steps back. 

To his surprise, Mary lurches over toward the open window. "Dean, honey," she implores, "get in the car. You just, you can't stay here. There's Wares-

"It's okay, Mom," he says, hoping she'll believe him and let Sam drive her out of here. If nothing else, he needs a few minutes with Cas.

Taking hold of his mother, Sam pushes her gently back to her own side of the car. "It's okay, mom," he tells her.

"But," she protests, "the wares-

"They're with us," Sam tells her, his hand poised and ready to put the car in drive.

When she looks up at him beseechingly, Dean gives her a nod of encouragement. She seems to accept things for a moment, leaning back in the seat. Then, just a beat later, she sits up straight again. "But-

"Mom," he says firmly, "they're with us." 

Dean watches as Sam executes a wide turn in the Impala, pointing the front end back towards the city. He lingers for a minute or two, watching the car grow smaller as it moves away from him. Then he heads back to rejoin his mate. Pulling his pack from the ground as he moves past it, Dean carries it with him. He and Cas reunite with nothing more than a look and a single touch of Dean's hand to the underside of Cas's chin.

Then, he bends down and starts digging through his gear. Pulling out a dish that used to contain food, he pours in water from the canteen and begins taking water to the wounded wolves - the ones who can't walk to the creek for a drink without pain. The pack has fared well, all things considered. There are only two that will need much more than a few days of rest to recover.

He lingers as long as he can, but eventually the desire to see if his father is alive wins out. He tries to bid farewell to his Alpha here, knowing that the pack needs leadership right now. Unfortunately, Cas seems intent on seeing Dean safely back to the city wall. He barks orders to The Grey and The Brown, leaving them behind so that he can remain at Dean's side until he's returned to civilization. When the gate is in sight, Dean turns to Cas. "See ya soon," he tells his ware. 

The beast looks intently at him, bright blue eyes conveying affection in the tawny glow of sunset. He knows that Cas will linger with the pack until they're well rested. They're close enough to the Southern den that getting to safety shouldn't be a problem, even for those who are limping. He may not be worried about his mate's safety, but that doesn't mean he feels good about separating. Walking away just doesn't feel right. Still, for his father, he does it.

He takes a few steps before turning back to Cas. "You were awesome today," he says, ducking his head shyly. He can't help it if Cas is still impressing him after all these years. The raw power, the speed, the confidence. Deans attraction is definitely justifiable. And undeniable. As he covers the last hundred yards to the gate, he's hoping to find his father alive and well so that he can get back to his mate in just a day or two. The minute he gets a look at his father, he knows that's not how things are going to play out. Happy reunions aside, the next few days are rough on the Winchester family.

As they’re treated in the hospital, both Bobby and John talk about the Wares being part of their rescue – though neither articulates the lifesaving role they’d played. Both men had been fearful of the wolves in the woods and in the days following their rescue they speak of the wares in terms of having survived them, rather than having survived _because_ of them.

Dean and Sam try and try to explain things, but both wind up being stunned by how vehemently their claims are rejected by the townsfolk. Mary isn’t much help in that respect, her attention primarily focused on John Winchester as she slowly loses the battle to keep him alive. The brothers, left to their own devices as they deal with the leadership of their local community, fail to adequately convince anyone of the truth. By the time John is buried and Mary finds herself capable of making a firm attestation on behalf of her boys, the words had lost any value they might've ever have had. People had long ago decided how they felt about the Wares and were resolutely uninterested in allowing anyone to change their minds. 

Dean begins to worry that his Alpha will come looking for him, come to the wall as he has in the past, only to be gunned down by some trigger-happy citizen. Fear of this combined with a deep yearning to be reunited prompt Dean to announce his immanent departure. His mother begs him not to go, tells him she needs him and begs him to stay. But he can't. Just can't.

Once he's outside the wall, things only get worse. Sam is sent out to let him know that Dean's no longer welcome in town. The residents make it clear to the remaining Winchesters that Dean is considered a defector - a traitor even. He'd abandoned him, they said, only to take the side of the monsters they most feared. 

Sam, ever faithful to Dean and sympathetic to the Wares he’d now befriended, hikes out to meet his brother a few times before the winter weather begins to set in. Whenever he visits, he brings things that he thinks Dean and the pack might need. He also brings treats like freshly baked pies, and he passes on the latest news from town as well as hugs and well-wishes from both Mary and Ellen. 

The brothers don't see one another all winter, but when Sam ventures out to meet Dean again in the Spring, he's short of good news. It turns out that all efforts to change the minds of the townspeople have fallen on deaf ears. Having spent the winter months sequestered in their homes with only close friends and family, everyone's opinions are now solidified. Fortified. 

There are a silent few who remain loyal to the Winchesters, but even Bobby had been hard to convince of the truth. It had taken most of the winter for him to come around and finally accept what his own wife had believed all along: that Dean has an inexplicable ability to communicate with the Wares, that the bond he shares with them had prompted the pack to assist when the Winchesters were in peril, and that they’d actually played a key role in Bobby’s own rescue.

Even if Bobby had been on his side from the very beginning, Dean knows that it probably wouldn't have mattered. The people of Lawrence had been fearing Wares since the building of the wall. One incident wasn't going to change their minds, even if it were accepted as truth by every single person. Besides, with John dead and Bobby permanently confined to a wheelchair, Mary and Ellen were far too busy to devote any time to a PR issue.

As he and Sam part company, Dean encourages his brother to forget about him. "Just take care of mom 'n Aunt Ellen," he says firmly. "And maybe visit when you've got time."

Bitter and angry at the community he’s been raised in, Dean soon begins losing all desire to be part of it. He's perfectly content to let his brother be the singular tether that ties him to the dying human race. Let them hide behind their walls as they slowly go extinct. For Dean, that kind of life is in the past.

Years go by with Dean in exile and he hardly even thinks about that old life anymore. As he looks around now, all he can think is that this day is nearly perfect. The blue summer sky is wide overhead and dotted with fluffy clouds. The wide expanse of the Kansas planes are covered in vibrant green foliage. Wild prairie flowers pepper the rolling hills with cheerful flecks of color. Yellow and white are the most prominent, but there are also hues of violet and pink, especially along the banks of the river and its tributaries where cat tails and clusters of pussy willow bend gently in the breeze.

Nearby there are pups with newly opened eyes and they're frolicking playfully in the tall grass. Under the protection of the adults, they are fearless as they tussle and tumble. Dean and Cas lay on the hillside together, just watching them and soaking up the warm sunshine. With keen eyes, Dean's Alpha monitors the youngsters, paying careful attention to their various strengths and weaknesses. Thankfully, Dean is far less burdened than his mate when it comes to the responsibilities of leadership. He’s at liberty to kick back and watch the pups without ulterior motives. They’re adorable and Dean can’t get enough. 

The entire expanse of land viewable from this spot is their territory now, and though Dean rarely feels any compulsion to enter the city he’s been banished from, he does miss his brother. Sammy visits when he can, but the measure of time from one visit to the next is never certain. He knows that visits are a luxury for someone like his brother. Not only is the younger Winchester saddled with caring for his mother as well as his Aunt and Uncle, he's got a wife now. Kids too. Poor Sammy has a lot of responsibility on his shoulders which probably makes it quite difficult for him to find the time to come and visit Dean. 

As he and Cas linger on the hillside, his mate stretches languidly and leans in to rest his head on Dean’s knee. In turn, Dean reaches out to stroke the underside of his jaw a few times. Then, he returns his full attention to the new pups. The litters increase in number every year, swelling the size of their pack to the point that had split in two the year before.

Dean had felt it coming; the need to divide their number. Not knowing how it would play out made him fearful of the change, but as he'd pondered things, he'd begun to hatch a plan. It wasn't something he'd conceived and orchestrated like a grand plot, but rather it was something that seemed to evolve quite naturally. In response to a problem, Dean would seek to avoid the worst possible outcome and as he succeeded in that, there would be some new development that he'd be focused on.

The start of it all, he thinks, had been Benny. Benny was a pup from the very first litter that Dean had been around to help raise. At this point he can't even recall the origins of the name, but it has stuck. Though many wolves had issued a challenge to Cas for leadership rites over the years, Benny had been the first one that Dean had feared might actually win if it came to a fight. He’d watched side-by-side with Cas as the pup had grown, his hunting skills and inclination toward leadership undeniable as he’d matured. Dean had loved little Benny more than any other pup. Maybe because the ware had always treated Dean like a brother, unlike the rest of the pack who seemed to tolerate him as an ally but often left him feeling like nothing more than a tolerated stranger in their midst.

Having bonded with Benny from early on, Dean had remained loyal to him even when it became obvious that he'd one day challenge Cas for the leadership role. But, hoping to keep Benny anchored, he'd angled to keep the young ware perpetually assigned to the same group as he rotated through chores, learned to hunt, and eventually took the lead position on what had quickly become his own designated hunting party. This pattern, it turned out, was the key. When Benny came into his prime, he didn't contest Cas's leadership or challenge him in any way. He simply took those subordinate to him and began to separate himself. His hunting trips grew longer over time, and his returns became fewer and farther between. Then, he began staying at the packs Southern den almost all the time. He and his newly forming pack stayed away the entire winter before returning in spring as mating season descended. 

Largely because of his close relationship with Dean, a tense stand off between Cas and Benny was quickly ended when he walked up between them. Hugging Benny affectionately and then returning to sit down peaceably at Cas's side had seemingly guilted Cas into also sitting down. Benny had followed suit and the rest had been history. 

At first, the splitting of the pack had been a bit jarring for those in positions of power. But with time, having two packs had proven advantageous. Remaining friendly and cooperative, both packs and their respective Alpha Wares have become a force to be reckoned with. All other packs have been pushed back and the territory surrounding the city of Lawrence is now theirs for at least twenty miles in every direction.

The second pack primarily keeps to the southern lands and uses the southern den as their permanent residence. Cas tends to keep his pack north of town and they still reside in the house that Dean had claimed for them early on. Regardless of how much he'd actually affected the outcome with Benny, Dean is proud of himself for the role he'd played in orchestrating the split and for how it has benefited both packs.

These days, when big challenges arise, the two packs can stand together as one. They help each other as needed and remain friendly even when separated for long periods of time. An unexpected benefit of the alliance between the packs is that both sides seem to enjoy briefly coming together for mating season – an endeavor that now defies description in its delicious depravity. Both Dean and Cas appreciate a good orgy and even when they're resting between rounds, watching the others is incredibly entertaining.

The right to mount a packs most prized Bitches is hard-won, often by rough and bloody fights. These are also good entertainment and the outcome of such challenges always seems to re-order the pecking order of both packs. Not only are the young constantly honing their skill to become more formidable challengers as the years pass, but each season also sees a few males aged out of the competition. Sometimes they’ll fight to the death defending their position of power in the pack, and sometimes they’ll simply retreat. Doing so changes their status among the wolves considerably, so Dean can understand why some would choose death over retirement.

Retired Wares are cared for by the pack and they can still participate in breeding, though their options are significantly decreased. Mostly, they fuck the older females who can no longer whelp. Still, they are a vital part of the pack. They participate in work details, like guarding the grounds, and they are often posted as lookouts during pack-wide orgies since they can’t keep up with the sexual Olympics of their younger and healthier packmates anyway. 

With each new mating season, a new generation of pups leaves their playful and carefree youth behind to assimilate into the breeding population. No longer nursing, they transition to a more adult role in the pack. This starts with the mating season each spring and is solidified by their second season hunting through the summer. As fall rolls in, these new hunters will welcome the seasons new pups and begin teaching the things they've learned. As season pass, new wolves will grow up and ascend the ranks of the hierarchy as far as their strength and will can take them.

Sandwiched between the Cas's northern pack and Benny's southern one is the city of Lawrence. Nestled perfectly in the center of the wares combined territory, it's perpetually crumbling walls still protect some humans. But, much like the wares, the humans of Lawrence have also split apart into two separate communities. They have divided to keep their differences from driving them to war but, thankfully, they remain civil enough to come together as one if circumstances warrant it. 

Looking back, Dean thinks that the town split can be traced to the death of John Winchester. He'd been revered in his community, a leader, and his death had hit them hard. After having been rescued from the woods and brought back behind the safety of the wall, he’d lingered for almost two weeks. Often delirious as the infection slowly claimed his life, he’d been quite vocal with his belief that the security of the wall was the only thing that could save the human race. Even after his death, when his wife had begun speaking out on behalf of Dean and the Wares, most everyone had clung to the old ways. 

But, as Sam had continued to visit with Dean, talk of trade and common enemies had been inevitable. So had been the eventual crumbling of Mary's will. Within two years of Johns death, she'd begun riding out with Sam to meet Dean. New ideas had taken root in her as she'd come to accept Dean's life with the Wares and as she brought those ideas back to her friends and neighbors, many had begun to think of her as a revolutionary. The ever-shrinking population of humans had then fractured into two rival belief systems - two separate and distinct clans.

Those who followed Mary and Sam Winchester had grown tired of the hate-speech and devisive actions of those who kept to the 'old ways'. Eventually, they'd struck out on their own. With nothing more than promises of assistance from Dean and his pack, they'd moved into a part of the city that was unprotected by a physical barrier. Dean’s brother had brought Jessica with him and she'd soon become his wife. Under Mary’s leadership, those who’d come out from behind the wall had adopted a new way of life. 

Their new home was in an area of the city that had been relatively untouched at the time - ripe for foraging. The highest of the low-lying ground, it was also strategically defensible for the humans and centrally located within undisputed pack territory. The pack, Dean had pledged, would guard them. At the time he'd made the promise, it had been a bit of a stretch. The wolves would protect their territory, he knew that. So he'd fudged a little when offering protection specifically to the humans.

Things were a bit rocky for the first few years, the pack and the humans both instinctively distrusting one another. But, with time and perseverance they’d all risen to challenge. Under the protection of the pack, the humans had found safety without surrendering to the limitations imposed by a formidable physical barrier like the wall. They’d moved freely through the city and as they collected for themselves, they also collected for the pack. Accumulating truckloads of things like dog food, evaporated milk, and even treats, they delivered these regularly and it hadn't taken long for the wolves to begin really enjoying their new alliance.

Since he was in communication with his brother, Dean always knew when people were coming and was able to easily maintain the appearance of propriety. No one, not even those closest to Dean ever seemed to suspect the true nature of his bond to Cas. This, sadly, was evidenced by the occasional attempt to ‘fix him up’ with a ‘nice girl’ from the settlement now dubbed 'New Town'.

Dean couldn’t help but bristle at these ridiculous set-up attempts and he discouraged them repeatedly. But, he also couldn’t help feeling relieved whenever someone tried to find him a wife. After all, them doing so was evidence that no one knew the truth about him and Cas. No matter how natural their relationship might feel to him, Dean has never lost sight of how it would be perceived by others. Not wanting to deal with the repercussions of that, he’s content to let the humans in his life feel sorry for him. He vastly prefers that to having them know the truth.

These days, life has fallen into routine. The humans of Mary’s clan are prospering while those within the wall slowly dwindle in number. Under the protection of the wolves and free of the wall, the citizens of New Town are able to farm the lands outside the city and even keep livestock. They store up goods for the winter and share their bounty with the pack when its needed. They provide medicine too – sharing antibiotics that they’ve scrounged so that the packs can fight infections just like the humans do. Now, more than ever before, both of Deans packs are healthy and thriving. So are the humans who are now their partners in this challenging post-apocalyptic life.

As Dean’s nerdy brother frequently reminds him, it was an alliance with ancient wolves that beget the first line of canines that would eventually become dogs. The relationship between human and canine had benefited both species for hundreds of generations and now, Sam would smugly remind, that same kind of ‘reciprocity’ would likely insure the survival of both species as the Earth began to repopulate itself.

Whether his brother is right about that or not, Dean doesn’t know. He often wonders if his brother’s 'reciprocity' is a code word for 'domestication' and if that's the case, he's not in agreement. He's certainly not of the mindset that a ‘domestication’ of his majestic beasts is what’s best for any of them. On the contrary, in his mind the world would be far better served if the people stayed more wild… in touch with nature. He'd much prefer to see people living in connection with the Earth than becoming the masters of it.

Dominating the Earth and its creatures with technology may have made the human race more comfortable for a few generations, but had it really made humans any _better_? Dean doesn’t think so. Humans have been ravaging this planet and its resources unrepentantly for far too long in his opinion. He hopes that Sammy is right about both species benefiting from an alliance, but he has a secret wish. If things play out the way he hopes, the Wares as they exist now will be a stronger force than the wild wolves of generations past. Perhaps they’ll be better at standing their ground and keeping the humans in their place, ensuring that future generations of them don’t wind up begging for scraps from tables but instead remain equal partners. That’s his dream.

Sadly, Sammy has become Sam. He’s strong in will as well as stature. He and Dean seem to fight as much as they agree. They get along best when they don’t talk at all. Keeping silent as they occasionally hunt together, and keeping to safe subjects when they occasionally share meals together – like on holidays and special occasions. Life these days is far from perfect, but it’s good. So very good.

Laying in the grass as he contemplates all this, Deans ears register a newly falling silence. Around him, the playful pups have nursed and are now sleeping peacefully. Their bellies are swollen and they are snoring adorably. A whisper of warm wind rustles the leaves overhead and there's an occasional bird call. Perfectly content in this moment, Dean turns over. Cas lifts a heavy paw to make room for him and Dean curls into the warmth of his alphas chest. To the steady rise and fall of that chest, Dean soon drifts off to sleep.

When he wakes, it’s because he’s jostled. Next to him, Cas is rising onto all fours and he blinks sleepily as he gets to his feet beside his mate. Taking in the changes to his environment as he wakes, he realizes that he’s been asleep for hours. The sky is no longer blue but a soft pinkish color and the sunlight that remains is coming in at a slant, orangey and thick with spinning dust motes. Sunset.

There’s a bit of a chill in the air and as he comes fully awake, Deans ears pick up on the sound that likely woke his mate... approaching footsteps. Turning to face the sound, Dean sees both his mother and brother approaching. He gives a wave and smile as he waits for them to close the distance. 

“Hey Dean,” says his brother in greeting. Then, turning to the hulking wolf at his side, Sam adds, “heya Cas.”

Cas gives Sam a nod in greeting as Dean greets him verbally. “Hey Sammy, how’s things?”

“It’s Sam,” corrects the broad-shouldered young man. Grinning, Dean ducks his chin in acknowledgement. It’s far more fun to get a rise out of his brother than it is to respect his wishes and call him by the preferred variation of his name. “Things are fine, I guess. We got the last of the crops in today.”

“Good day for it,” Dean says.

“Wish I could’ve spent the day watchin’ pups play,” he says wistfully, looking around. The wolves nearby are now fully awake, not paying much attention to their visitor but to the sniffing, wriggling pups who are waking in their midst. 

“What can I say,” Dean winks, “bein’ me has its privileges.” Then, with the small talk behind them, Dean waits for his brother to return eye contact before asking, “What’s up?”

“Nothin’ much, I guess. Just wanted to let you know that we're done planting." Dean thinks he knows where this is headed, but he remains silent and waits for his brother to say the words. "I know you don't like it," Sam continues, "but I think the time has come.”

"And you've come to tell me it's gonna happen?" he asks, trying to hold back the anger he feels roiling inside him. Why can't people ever leave well enough alone? 

"Sorry, Dean," says Sam.

“When?” he asks, even though that is the lesser of two important questions.

“They’re talkin’ about leaving day after tomorrow. They want to spend tomorrow rounding up supplies and then leave at first light." 

Time for the more important question. “Who’s goin'?"

“Bobby and Aunt Ellen,” answers Sam, proceeding to list off another half dozen names. “And mom’s gonna lead them.”

“Fuck,” Dean whispers, turning his gaze towards the city. Looking down on it from up here, the sections are clearly defined… the most familiar parts being those behind walls where he’d grown up. The new human settlement, NewTown, is on the other end where smoke and light are evidence of life outside the wall. Between the two is downtown - comprised primarily of concrete, steel, and glass. It's been completely picked over for as long as Dean can remember and it's crumbling. Devoid of all life. There are a few areas of Lawrence that are not currently inhabited but which are still accessed for scavenging and though they're obvious from this vantage, they have no official name.

Mary’s band of expats had begun talking about an expedition the moment they'd had a solid foothold in their new life. For far too long they’d wondered if they were truly the last humans on earth – or if there were others out there, cut off by geography and a lack of communication, either dying or thriving. Curiosity is, after all, human nature. Driven both by the urge to explore, and the urge to unite with others of their own kind, the people living under Mary Winchesters leadership desperately wanted to strike out and seek other survivors. Dean has grown tired of trying to argue them out of it.

To him, actively searching out other humans feels like rocking the boat. Things are going fine, why risk exposing themselves to whatever waits beyond the horizon line? But, despite his vocal opposition to venturing out, his own mother is in favor of the endeavor and wants to go. She’s always been persuasive – a force to be reckoned with when she felt strongly about something. Now it would seem, she’s got Sam on her side and the two of them are unflinching as they gang up on him.

“Look,” says Sam, as if he's a lawyer making a closing argument in court, “I know you don’t like the idea. But you’ve always supported the family… done whatever you had to keep us safe.”

“Yeah,” he says tersely, “and that’s hard enough when everybody's here... you wanna send a bunch of 'em out into the fuckin’ wilderness. Dammit, don’t you guys understand? The world you’re lookin’ for aint out there anymore!" Trying to calm himself, he adds, "You guys are risking everything, and for what? Whole buncha nothin’.”

“Dean, everyone that’s going knows what they’re risking.”

“No they don’t,” he counters, “or they wouldn’t fuckin' go. They’re not just risking their own lives, Sammy, they’re risking ours too. Even if they make it back, who knows what they’ll bring with ‘em.”

“I know,” he sighs, not even bothering to correct Dean’s use of his old nickname. “New enemies, new problems… hell, some new disease. Anything could happen. But there’s no stopping the mission at this point. Mom leads with majority rule and they’ve done an official vote. It’s not a wide majority, I’ll give you that, but those in favor of an expedition outnumber those opposed.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know how it all works,” he allows, “that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Me either,” says Sam, once more averting his gaze.

It’s at this moment that Dean puts two and two together. He sees the slump of his brothers’ shoulders and the resigned look on his face. “Wait,” he says firmly, his change in tone still not prompting Sam to return eye contact. “You’re goin’?”

“Dean,” he says, bringing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose in a sign of stress. “I have to.”

“The fuck you do.”

“I do, Dean, and you know I do. Someone’s gotta look out for mom.”

“Sammy,” he implores, playing the only trump card he has, “you’ve got kids.”

“I do,” he nods, his chin clenching. “And I’m trusting you to look out for them.” There’s a double meaning behind his brothers words and Dean picks up on it immediately. Sam isn’t just asking him to take care of his nieces and nephews on a temporary basis. He’s asking Dean to raise them if he doesn’t come back.

Carefully holding his best poker face, Dean glances at his mother before looking back at his brother to say, “I ain’t no good at the daddy shit, Sam. If you gotta go, then do me a solid and get your ass back here quick, ya hear?”

It seems like he’ll never get used to his little brother being the taller one. That’s the thought that crosses his mind as the big giraffe of a man surges forward to hug him. “I will, Dean,” he whispers while they’re pressed close.

“Bring her back,” he adds as they part, suddenly more fearful than he’s been a long time.

“I will,” says his brother with conviction. “I promise.”

Cas had left with the pups and bitches while Dean had said his final farewell to his mother and Sam. As he returns home, all he can think of is the promises that he and his family have made to one another. Before he's even near the guarded property line, he comes across Cas. 

His ware, it would seem, has been waiting for him. Out here, away from the others, he sinks to the ground and patiently tries to make him understand what's about to happen. When it’s clear that they’re on the same page, they sit silently together. On a grassy hillside under a starry sky, Dean finally looks over at Cas in the soft blue moonlight and says, “C’mon buddy, you gotta get my mind off this shit.”

The wolf tips his head towards Dean in acknowledgement and then nuzzles into him for a moment. Soft tickling from fur and whiskers are like foreplay to him after all these years and a few sensual licks to the bolt of his jaw quickly awaken his sexual desire. Cas inhales deeply, seemingly appreciative of the pheromones Dean secretes. A moment later, he’s startled as Cas suddenly lurches away from him. Throwing his head back, the beast brays at the moon overhead. The call is long and a little sad, but it’s also wild.

His heart begins thumping heavily when the animals head swivels in his direction, fierce eyes locking on Dean. He doesn’t look away from the Alpha as he clumsily kicks free of his clothes. His breathing is already ragged with anticipatory excitement as he arranges himself on all fours in the grass and as he waits eagerly for his ferocious beast to come and mount him, Dean is peering over his shoulder. He watches as the animal tips his head back and howls at the moon once more.

The animals silhouette is striking and his eyes are positively electric in the blueish moonlight. Licking his lips hungrily as he approaches, the ware comes to stand directly over Dean. Only when he's underneath his Alpha does Dean let his eyes slip closed. He groans wantonly as he feels the first sensual brush of fur on his bare back. Quivering already, his butt cheeks clench excitedly as a wet nose and wickedly textured tongue tickle down his spine and into his crack.

His cheeks begin to relax as Cas licks him open, tongue slipping inside soft and slow at first. As he relaxes into the gentle rim job, Deans body slowly melts down to the ground until he’s nothing more than a tripod, his upper torso laying pliant on the ground while his planted knees do the work of keeping his eager ass hoisted in the air.

The gentle night breeze whispers over his naked skin and the fact that he can hear nothing but soft cricket song around him is a reminder that they’re alone. Normally, the pack are with them and he’s used to hearing the shifting of their bodies, their breathing, even their vocalizations - the whines and growls that amount to running commentary on the various techniques and positions they bear witness to.

This time there’s nothing but the wilderness around them when Dean begins rocking back onto his canine lovers tongue. It unfurls inside of him, sending waves of pleasure through his body from deep inside. Euphoria is setting in already and Dean scrambles to get a hand between his legs.

The moment his palm wraps around his shaft, Cas withdraws from his hole and nips the meat of his ass. It’s a firm command not to touch himself yet and Dean feels a pulse of pre-cum dribble from his tip in response to the harsh rebuke. His shaft is still filling as he lets go of it and it bobs beneath him as he adjusts his body, rising back up on all fours again. His fingers scratch at the ground, tangling with the stalks of weeds and prairie grass as he prepares to be mounted. He can feel Cas positioning himself over his back and a moment later there’s hot breath on his neck. 

There’s something special about being alone like this – just the two of them. In the same way that getting fucked in front of the pack has always seemed to solidify that they’re part of it, fucking alone now feels like an affirmation that the two of them are a couple… separate from the others… a bonded pair. Lifelong mates.

Until recently, Dean had never given much thought to a future with Cas. He may have chosen to forsake his fellow humans in favor of a life with Cas but he'd never consciously set the expectation of a certain timeframe. He'd been living in the moment. But honestly, the passing years seem to have done nothing but strengthen the relationship between him and his wolf. He can’t know for sure that Cas is thinking of him the same way, but he feels it. He feels it all the time. Cas's commitment to stay with Dean is evidenced in those magnetic eyes every time they lock on his. It’s in every tilt of the animals head and, yes, in every thrust of his powerful haunches when he lays into Dean. Every time he’s fucked, Dean is mightily claimed. Again and again. These days he's starting to realize that it's for life.

Their bond, though unspoken, is revered by the other pack members. In fact, it's celebrated by the every spring during the mating ritual. Each season as a new generation of wolves enters adulthood and begins to breed, they are ushered forward to join the high ranking members of the pack as they bear witness to a brutal marathon-style fucking by their pack Alpha. They all growl at the ferociousness with which Dean is repeatedly fucked senseless, their guttural noises slowly morphing into sympathetic whines as Dean is reduced to a tangled pile of limbs. Then, as he lays there and accepts the act, each will take a turn circling his fucked out body before lifting their leg to piss on him. 

They mark him as pack property when doing this and Dean accepts the act gladly, shamelessly eager as he waits for his own mate to step up and take his turn. Despite having already climaxed many times by this point, Dean will inevitably pulse another dribble of cum onto the ground as he watches Cas stride up to him. The eroticism of the moment cannot be overstated. His Alpha completes the ritual by spraying him with a hot stream, just as he had the very first time they'd fucked - way back when Dean was still a knock-kneed young boy.

Just like he had that very first time, Dean still eagerly opens his mouth to the stream as his mate defiles him. Every. Time.

The vulgarity of the act is scintillating beyond all measure when it's Cas. The rest of the pack may mark him as their property, but when Cas marks him, it's different. Being marked by Cas is undoubtedly the most blackly arousing thing he’s ever experienced. Just remembering it now is a shot of lust to his groin as he waits to be mounted.

“C’mon,” he growls over his shoulder. “Fuckin’ take me.”

Dean can feel the thump of each mighty paw when they come to rest on either side of his body, framing Dean from above. Once again, he feels warm liquid dribble from the tip of his dick as the excitement of what’s about to happen overwhelms him. He feels hot breath on his neck and thinks he's about to be mounted. But, in this moment, Cas surprises him. 

He’d long given up hope of being properly bitten, but now it’s happening. Simultaneously as he penetrates Dean from behind, Cas bites down. Hard. Not for the first time, Dean screams into the dark night. There’s a searing sensation that’s far more acute than he’d ever imagined… like he’s being cut by a dozen different knives all at once. It’s all consuming, this pain, and though his mouth is locked open, he can’t tell if he’s screaming or not. He can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t even think.

When the pain begins to abate, he considers taking a breath. He needs one. He’s dizzy and seeing explosions of light behind his eyelids, but just when he thinks he’s going to be able to inhale, the pain snaps back like a rubber band to hit him again. It’s like lightening - a jolt that reverberates. When he’s able to manage it, he gulps in a ravenous breath only to let it out again in the form of a scream.

As his ragged voice expresses his pain and shock, Dean’s body spasms. His head is spinning and there’s a strange feeling of suction that tugs at his ragged wounds. When air hits the open puncture wounds, Dean realizes that Cas has released his hold. He’s still impaled on a huge canine cock though, having been breached as he was bitten. Dean is bent double under the weight of his wolf with his cheek, neck, and shoulder grinding into the earth. He's bleeding profusely and can feel his warm blood oozing, pooling along the creases in his skin – and he's absorbing all of this while being split open on his lovers fat cock.

He’s never felt so completely dominated in all his life. His eyes swim with tears and he screams himself hoarse as Cas continues pushing in deeper. Dean’s left garbling inelegantly on the pull back, knees scraping under the weight of his wolf as he tries to hold his ground, and then Cas is sinking back in again. When he finally bottoms out, the Ware stays buried deep inside of him while he ceases all movement in favor of howling up at the moon again.

Dean is still reeling from the pain, but is also fully aroused by what’s happening. His engorged cock is throbbing and he can feel the matching pulse in his ears and behind his eyes. For a brief moment, he thinks he might just have a stroke and die, right then and there. Stretched over the girth of this wolf while it howls at the moon, Dean comes hard. His cock is completely untouched as it twitches and spouts jizz to the ground between his spread knees. Fireworks are going off brightly behind his clenched eyelids and he blacks out for an indeterminable amount of time before snapping back to consciousness.

When he comes around, he’s limp on the ground, his body flopping forward a few inches every time that Cas thrusts into him. When he feels hot breaths panting on the back of his neck, that’s when he realizes how wet it is. He’s bleeding from the savage bite wound and every second or third thrust, Cas pauses to lick it up.

Dean tries in vain to hold his ground, get his palms into the dirt and lock his frame, but he’s helpless in the face of such raw power. He grunts with the effort of trying and eventually just flops back down and lets his body be used. Cas swells larger and larger inside him, his rim stretching and pulling as its tension is tested repeatedly, thrust after mighty thrust. He’s sobbing by the time he comes again on that cock, his eyes wet and teary and his throat nearly raw from screaming in ecstasy. He’s making only gurgling sounds by the time his mate finally fills him with a hot load. Stuffed so full like this, he can feel the cum leaking back out even before Cas’s shaft even starts to shrink.

Carefully, the spent ware eases his weight down over Dean like a heavy blanket, remaining buried deep inside him for quite some time. All the while, he licks with tenderness and affection. Gently, he laps up the blood from Dean's neck and cleans the wound. In the end, despite the intense pain he’s endured, Dean feels like they have deepened their bond… like Cas has taken a part of Dean into himself. In his mind, he likens the completion of this act to them becoming blood brothers. 

After a while, Dean tests his ability to speak. “You sure know how to distract a guy, don’tcha?” His voice is raspy and weak but he chuckles at his own dark sense of humor. As Cas slips out of him, Dean takes the opportunity to roll over. He dusts off his palms and knees, only to find that they’ve been abraded badly enough to bleed and are already beginning to scab over.

“I gotta say,” he muses, mostly to himself, “this is probably the worst I’ve ever looked when you’ve finished with me... but goddam I came hard. Twice."


	6. Chapter 6

After their coupling, Dean doesn't bother putting his clothes back on. Instead, he lays down on his back in the grass to look up at the stars. Next to him, Cas curls up on his side with his paws tucked up under his body and his nose tilted into the breeze. They linger in silent contemplation for quite some time, Dean's eyes on the sky and Cas's wandering the landscape around them.

When a chill sets in, Dean rolls toward his mate and the great beast opens his paws to him. As soon as he's snug against the soft, warm underside of his ware, those mighty paws curl protectively around him, circling him in warmth. The tender way that Cas closes his eyes as he begins to lick Dean's face speaks volumes. There’s undisguised reverence in the act and Dean surrenders to it. Revels in it.

Inevitably, he begins to nod off. But when Cas’s head dips lower, rolls his tongue down Dean's torso to his stomach and thighs, he feels a stirring sensation between his legs that quickly wakes up the rest of him. He stretches indulgently as he comes around and before long, the tongue bath has moved to his chubby penis. It grows steadily, flopping from one side to the other as his ware licks around it, up and down it. Laving that elegant tongue downward, Cas curls it around his balls to roll and cradle them before swiping back up again. Soon Dean his moaning and spreading his legs so that his mate can flick that perfectly textured tongue over his taint.

Having been artfully coaxed back to life, Dean’s package is now standing tall and proud. Then, as though striving to add as many 'firsts' to the night as possible, Cas positions himself to enter Dean in the missionary position. In order to accommodate the act, Dean has to hoist his knees up until they're nearly even with his ears. But with some wriggling, they are able to get Cas’s slippery cock lined up with Dean’s tender hole.

“M’not gonna lie,” he mumbles, looking up at his mate, “it’s pretty intense with all this eye contact.”

Cas gives him a nod, obviously understanding the sentiment even if Dean's subtle humor doesn’t exactly translate. He knows his Alpha gets it. Mostly. Regardless, Cas manages to enter him. Pausing to adjust for a better angle, the furry creature then hunkers down and starts to move in small, abortive thrusts. Dean lays there with his legs spread and his head between his knees, staring up at Cas’s face as he’s fucked slow and deep. Not once does the wolfs intense gaze break from Dean’s. The whole thing is about as romantic as he can stand.

“Yeah, I get it,” he whispers, knowing that this is Cas’s way of saying ‘I love you’. He shares the sentiment, of course, but isn’t one to want or need the actual words. Instead he gives Cas a knowing smile and says, "Yeah, yeah, me too.” Cas has always seemed to understand what he means, even if there’s no common language between them. So, knowing that they’ve now made their declarations, Dean adds, “But, if you want me to fuckin’ come, you’re gonna have to turn me over and fuck me for real.”

Chuckling to himself as the two of them fumble him back onto his knees, Dean then bends humbly beneath his mate. He’s always enjoyed how easily that huge cock will slide into him on the second or third round and tonight is no exception. As he feels the bump of a bulbous tip at his entrance, Dean takes a deep breath and digs in. Locking his frame to hold his ground, he groans out loud as he feels the big push. The dull ache of want that's been pulsing in his rim is suddenly relieved as it stretches to accommodate the full girth of his canine lover. Pushing himself down onto that shaft, he feels a full-body shiver snaking it's way up his spine. They’re still alone together with no one to witness their joining, but that doesn’t stop Dean from making a show of things as his Alpha starts humping into him. Preening as he arches his back, Dean finds just the right angle and starts working himself towards another climax. He can tell his partner is close when the cock he's riding starts to throb heavily. 

The memory of having been bred earlier tonight, completely ravaged and deeply bitten, fuels Dean's lust. He’s been fantasizing about being bitten like that since he was fifteen years old. He’s thrilled that it happened, but actual act had been far more painful than he’d ever imagined. He honestly doesn't want to do it again. So, at the risk of throwing off their perfect rhythm for a second, Dean pauses to mutter aloud, “Heya Cas, I’m good with the biting thing now. We don’t have to keep doin’ it, capisce?”

Peering over his shoulder, he sees Cas giving him a comical look. If his Ware could speak English, he'd likely be saying something along the lines of, “Yeah you fuckwit, it hurts because my teeth are sharp. I tear meat from bones with these fangs and you wanted me to bite you? Idiot.”

Dean is still chuckling to himself as he returns his attention to their sex. Arching his back to adjust their angle, he resumes a rocking motion. Reaching back between his legs to cup his balls for a second, he then gives his stiff prick a few rough tugs before returning his palm to the ground. It takes a while to come this time, and when he finally pumps a load into the grass between his knees, he’s also taking one from behind.

As he often does when they're finished these days, Cas dips his great head down to lap as the cream pie he's left behind. He doesn't stop until Dean is well cleaned up. Then, having finally exhausted their passions, the two curl up together under the stars again and Dean falls into a deep and dreamless sleep. When he wakes again, it’s to pain. His head is pounding and as consciousness returns, he begins to remember the night before… the wild fucking… the bite… and the awful thing he’d needed a distraction from in the first place.

He’s stiff from having slept on the ground and as he stretches he takes stock of the various manifestations of pain, each a reminder of something wickedly erotic he'd enjoyed the night before . The wounds on his neck are stinging and throbbing, but he's glad to have received them. He's mildly sore between his cheeks and it's going to sting like hell when he takes his morning dump. But, again, the pain is pleasurable because he enjoyed the deed that led to it.

Sitting up, he realizes that he's only got a headache because he's overheated. Having fallen asleep out in the open, there’s been nothing protecting him from the sun as he slept. It's been scorching his freckled skin too and when a bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face, he feels it plop onto his neck and burn like acid - salt in the ragged wound that Cas has left behind. Job number one, he realizes, is to get out of this heat. He needs to cool off. Rising, he takes a piss. As he does, he looks around and decides that the nearby creek has never looked quite so inviting. 

Cas remains behind when Dean walks away, clearly content to continue lounging in the sun. He makes his way gingerly down the bank of the creek and into the water. It's clear all the way to the bottom as it rushes over colorful rocks. Stepping carefully over the sharp stones, Dean wades out into the cool flowing stream. Rushing around his ankles, it quickly leeches away the heat and it feels so good that he's soon moving to the middle where the water is deepest. Waist deep now, he sinks down until his shoulders are immersed. Enjoying the sensation for a bit first, he eventually eases his wounded neck below the surface. 

This bath isn't just refreshing, it's invigorating. A moment later when movement catches his eye, Dean looks up to see that Cas has come closer. He's sitting right next to the creek now, his attention fully focused on Dean. Smiling up at his ware for a moment, he then tips his head back into the flowing water and submerges. When he surfaces, he begins stretching his limbs. Then, feeling more limber, he checks over all his wounds to be sure they're all coming clean.

Satisfied with his bath but not quite ready to get out of the water yet, Dean begins making some plans. His mom and brother leave tomorrow morning, so he'll need to get to town today, preferably before sundown. Unfortunately, he's got no idea how long he'll be staying once he arrives so he'll need to pack a well thought-out bag and that means stopping at home first. Additionally, he can’t show up looking like he was attacked by rabid dogs. Relations between the humans and wares are good right now, have been for quite some time, and he doesn't want to risk that by being careless and allowing people to see a ragged bite mark. Speculation about that kind of thing can only lead to problems. The walk to town will also take some time. 

Judging by the suns position in the sky, Dean’s pretty sure he's got enough time. Looking up to the place where he'd last seen his mate, Dean finds the magnificent creature sitting proudly as he watches Dean bathe. As their eyes connect, Cas gets to his feet and walks to the waters edge. Rising on his hind legs first, the dark wolf executes a flawless flying leap into the water nearby. Upon surfacing, the ware and paddles leisurely over to him.

They swim together for a bit before climbing up out of the water. Cas shakes himself off but Dean doesn't do anything more than just swipe a hand over his face to clear the water that's beading across his brow. Finding a desirable spot in the shade nearby, he lays down wet in the grass and chuckles as he looks over at Cas saying, "I'll be damned - I think I might be good for one more round."

Dean grins as he sees his mates eyes grow expectant. Cautious of his wounds and sore muscles, Dean turns over slowly and carefully. He eases himself down onto his belly. Spreading his legs in invitation, he says to Cas, “This is the best I can do, right now. But if you want it, c’mon 'n take it.” Then, he folds his arms up and lays his head down on them, his body relaxed from tip to toe. With his eyes closed, Dean smiles contentedly to himself as he feels an exploratory nose snuffling along his wet skin. Rolling first to one side and then the other, Dean gets his stiffening cock into a comfortable position beneath him. Cas licks his freshly bathed bud to get him ready, but after the night they've just had, it doesn’t take much.

Beads of cool water dribble on Dean's back when his wet Alpha mounts him and the warm and slippery cock that pushes up inside him is a striking contrast to the coolness of wet fur brushing his skin. Refreshed from his swim, Dean stays lazily sprawled in the grass as Cas fucks him, the sensuality he feels in the moment evidenced by the soft moans that keep escaping despite his efforts to silence them.

Still buried deep inside him, Cas wickers softly from deep in his throat, likely an answer to Dean's moaning. It's a sound that Dean's far more accustomed to hearing _after_ a good lay, rather than during the act itself, but he's not one to think too deeply about these things. He just enjoys them. Eventually, the euphoria of sweet and gentle sex begins to build into something more desperate and Dean winds up turning onto his side and hoisting one leg in the air. Doing so puts him in a position to take his lovers cock even deeper, with the added benefit of allowing him room to jerk off as he's fucked. Though the thrusts turn heavy and brutal as Cas chases his climax, the animal moves fluidly in him and Dean’s body easily accepts his life-long mate as they work together towards a mutually fulfilling end.

Feeling a warm flood of cum deep inside him, Dean groans and chuckles darkly. “I knew ya had it in ya,” he says, doubling the effort of his own tight fist so he can get off too. Finished, but still buried deep inside of Dean, Cas watches the moment of Dean's completion with unblinking eyes. Calling out to his Alpha as a load of pearlescent jizz arcs from his tip, Dean then turns back onto his stomach as the wave of pleasure passes. Cas licks him clean as he comes down from his high and then the two of them relax for a bit in the afterglow.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ miss ya,” he says, reaching over to ruffle the fur between Cas's enormous ears. Then, he gets up and puts his dirty pants back on. Side by side, the two head for home. As they approach the invisible boundary that marks their territory, Dean and his mate are greeted by a chorus of howling. They separate out front, Dean heading inside to get himself together and Cas remaining with the others, presumably telling them that their human will be leaving for a while.

When he's changed and packed and has no more excuses to stay, Dean makes his exit. Cas walks with him to the boundary and Dean barely pauses as he says goodbye to his dark wolf, the lingering gaze they share as he backs away conveying far more than words ever could. It's nearly sunset when he arrives in town. His sister in law, Jess, welcomes him and helps him get settled. Then she walks him over to a nearby warehouse that has been repurposed into a kind of community storage facility.

Jess leaves Dean with his brother who is busy coordinating the packing of two pick-up trucks. Dean helps as much as he can with the grunt work while Sam makes decisions about how much space to devote to ammo versus food, gasoline versus drinking water, and many other decisions that could wind up making a difference between life and death for their crew. Juggling clip boards and answering questions, Dean's brother continually packs and re-packs the supplies as he tries to fit as much as possible into the smallest amount of space. 

When there's nothing more to be done, the brothers head back to Sam and Jess's house for the evening meal. It's been dark for hours at this point and his kids are up far later than usual. They are cranky and fidgety as they eat, pummeling Sam with questions he can't possibly be expected to answer. Watching closely in an attempt to learn, Dean soaks it all in. He notices the way Jess tries to help, taking the answers Sam gives and retelling them in the form of stories and comparisons to help the children understand. In short, she makes a bridge for the kids - one that takes them from a cold reality to a much warmer fantasy that isn't _quite_ a lie. In a way, she reminds him of how his own mother had been back when he was a boy.

"That's a good woman you've got there," he tells his brother when they're saying goodnight.

"Don't I know it," chuckles Sam. "Whenever I forget for a sec, she's right there to remind me."

"Look Sammy," he says, laying his hand on his brothers shoulder, "I know you've gotta do what you've gotta do... for mom, for the people, hell, for the damned future. But you've got a lot to lose here. When you're out there in the open, don't take any chances okay?"

"You think I don't know that, Dean? You think I'm being reckless?"

"I think you're idealistic," he counters, "and idealistic people tend to become martyrs."

Sam's posture is defensive, but Dean knows it isn't because he doesn't want to hear what's being said. It's because the things Dean is saying ring true. Perhaps his own wife has said similar. Knowing that his message has been received, Dean gives his brother more thing to think about. "You've grown up to be a good man, Sammy. But your kids don't need the memory of a good man. They need _you_. They ain't gonna grow up right if I'm the closest thing to a father they have. I mean, Jess is a good woman, but there's only so much she can do. So, when you're out there, don't play the hero okay? Just get back here."

"You're a good man too, Dean," replies Sam. "My kids could do worse than to follow your example."

"Thanks for that," he smiles, knowing that the words are heartfelt. "But still, if I wanted to be a dad, I woulda had a few kids." Pointing towards his home, Dean adds, "my place is out there, Sammy. Yours is here, with your family. I just wanna be sure that while you're gone, you'll remember where your place is."

"I've got it Dean," says Sam reassuringly. "My place is here."

"Right," he says, "I just wanted to make sure you didn't have any grandiose visions about the future of the world."

"Sure, Dean, sure. And by that same token, I should make sure you don't have any grandiose visions about puttin' the moves on my wife."

"She's hardly my type," laughs Dean, thinking of Cas.

"Is anybody?" jokes Sam. 

"Be glad I like to fly solo," he jokes, "It's the only reason I'm available to be a stand-in for you."

"True," Sammy sighs, thumping Dean on the back as they part company. "And thanks for doing it," he adds as he's walking away. "I'll feel better knowing that you're here to take care of them for me." 

Heading for the guest room that he's been set up in, Dean turns in for the night. It's kind of weird sleeping in a real bed - one that's high off the ground on a frame and pushed against a wall. As he crawls in and prepares to try and sleep, he can hear his brother down the hall reading a bedtime story to his kids. His heart fissures a little when he hears Sam bid them goodnight and tell them that angels are watching over them.

The little bit of sleep he gets is fitful and in the morning he watches his mothers posse leave. Men with shotguns are perched on top of the supplies that have been skillfully packed into the bed of each truck and they scan the horizon vigilantly in every direction as they're driven out of the city. Dean, Jess, and the kids stay to watch as the little convoy makes slow and steady progress over the hilly terrain, growing smaller and smaller as minutes tick by. 

The first week is spent getting used to the routine and gaining an appreciation for the way his mother runs this town. They don't vote on leaders, they vote on decisions. Any proposed action is presented to the group and put to a vote. Leaders aren't voted in, they simply volunteer. Unpopular leaders don't last long in the face of public distain whereas the good ones, like Mary, last and last.

Additionally, resources are communal. No one in his mothers settlement owns a truck - the community owns trucks. If someone needs to use one, they just ask. Living like this stands in sharp contrast to the way he was raised. The way he'd grown up, only those who were hunters had meat. If you were strong enough to cut firewood then you had heat. That kind of logic had governed them all. There had been charity, sure. Everyone tried to take care of the widows and orphans. But there had been no guarantees for those who couldn't take care of themselves, no certainty that they'd have access to even the most minimal standards of living. The old, the sick, the lame... they had survived on nothing more than the good graces of the community around them. Sadly, their needs had often been overlooked despite the best of intentions.

In his mothers community, no one is left out. Each adult contributes within their own skillset and to the best of their abilities. Those who can hunt do the hunting. Those who can cut wood, well, they do so. Everyone has something they can do to help out, even the lady who can't walk. She sits all day sewing... mending the torn and frayed. Nobody goes hungry and nobody freezes to death. Everyone helps in their own way and everyone receives the same access to the necessities of life. To Dean it's almost exactly like pack life and he really likes it.

By the second week, Dean's getting the hang of things. To his surprise, he actually enjoys the time he's spending with his niece and nephews. He plays games with them that he remembers from his own childhood and tricks them into doing chores by disguising them as games. He helps Jess out as much as he can and volunteers for work details where he thinks he can do the most good. The most important thing he can do, it seems, is occasionally reassure Jess that her husband will soon return. 

"This ain't exactly a milk run," he often tells her. The comparison is a good one. A milk run, he's found, takes a few hours. Though it's a two man job, the errand is relatively simple. A cart full of empty milk canisters is pulled out of the city and over to the community livestock barns. Empties are swapped out for full ones and then the cart is pulled back to town. It's far heavier on the return trip, which is why one person can't do it alone. This chore is so predictable that when Dean says, 'it ain't a milk run', Jess knows exactly what he means.

"Your husband went to see if there's life out there," he reminds her, "the farther he goes without finding it, the longer it'll take him to get back. Just 'cause he's gone for a long time doesn't mean something happened to him. All it means is that he's having to a long ways to find what he's looking for."

"You're getting good at this," she tells him in response. As the days go by, she says that more and more. The chores he does, the pep talks he gives, even his dealings with the kids... he is, in fact, getting better at all of it. Not that the success matters much to Dean. This temporary glimpse of domesticity is doing nothing but affirm his life choices. Dean loves the life he lives with the pack and he misses it more with each passing day. More than that, he misses his mate. Misses Cas.

All his hopes are pinned on Sam returning, and Jess's are too. Despite the assurances that he continually provides, a betting man he would've wagered on the rag-tag posse returning with a drastically reduced head count, if it even returned at all. 

By the third week, his words to Jess have changed somewhat. Now he's saying things like, "Hey, Sammy promised to come back and the kid has never let me down yet." A week after that, he's losing his mind. He's not used to be around people so much - the incessant talking and constant chaos of children underfoot are constant annoyances. The perpetual need for manners and social graces is exhausting. This life is _crowded_. It's _noisy_. And, it's full of meaningless chatter.

Aside from all that, the pull to return to his mate is strong and Dean's getting tired of trying to fight it. He's lonely here, too. Having spent his entire adult life cuddling with his mate every night and sleeping in the midst of a thriving pack, it just doesn't feel right to try and rest in a dark room all by himself. 

When the time for harvest begins drawing near, Dean officially starts to worry. How can this little fledgling community possibly hope to pull off a harvest when they're short almost a dozen people? Doing so might be possible with someone knowledgeable running the show, but what does Dean know about pulling in crops from the field? How can he possibly figure out how much should be canned and how much should be frozen? How should it all be stored and how should the inventory and distribution of the goods be handled? He wishes his brother were here with his stack of clipboards.

Dean's having dreams these days too - bad ones. Sometimes he wakes in a cold sweat. He's deeply fearful that he'll be stuck in this new life forever. If that winds up happening the town will die out under his leadership, he's sure of it. He just doesn't have the same finesse as his mother and brother - or maybe he just doesn't care enough. Selfishly, his thoughts often linger on what he’s giving up by not being with his pack. This summer the pups are growing up without him around. Will they even remember him when he finally gets back? Will the pack still consider him to be one of them if he's gone for more than a season or two? Will he eventually forfeit that life all together if he stays in town too long?

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear Jessica coming up to join him and she startles him when she sits down. He smiles over at her sheepishly but she doesn't tease him. Sitting in the warm glow of the kitchen hearth together, they stare contemplatively into the fire for a bit before Jess finally breaks the silence. "Okay," she says, "I've been melancholy for a week now. Don’t you dare sink into it with me. One of us has to keep up appearances for the kids."

“I can fake it,” he tells her with a wink.

“No,” she laughs heartily, “I never met a man who could fake it.”

“There’s things I don’t need to know about my brother and his wife,” Dean teases. He’s always liked Jess, but the feeling is much stronger now. The two of them have gotten to know each other fairly well in recent weeks. Not only is Jess far stronger than he’d ever credited her for, but her sense of humor is a match for his own. Even the intimate spaces don’t feel awkward when she’s in them. They recline together to watch the flames in silence. The peace lasts for almost three minutes and then the kids are screaming in the next room. “Well,” she chuckles, getting to her feet, “it was nice while it lasted.”

“You deserve a medal,” he tells her honestly. “Or at least a full nights sleep. How ‘bout I get up with the baby tonight?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she challenges over her shoulder.

Still staring into the flames, he nods and mumbles, “Yep. That’s fair.”

The summer storms have been bad this year, and the towns’ crops have been affected. They've lost one field to hail damage and most of another to the abnormally wide funnel of a tornado that had torn through it. A grove of trees had been uprooted as well, several of them landing on key structures that now need repairs. Because of the man hours they've invested in clean up and repairs, the hunting and farming work has suffered. Their little settlement is spread too thin to cover unexpected problems like this and to say that Dean is worried about harvest is actually an understatement. 

The bad news? They’ve had to start rationing. The good news? Dean finally has a legitimate reason to visit his pack. He only has a few hours with them when he goes, but he and Cas make the most of their time together. His pack are now increasing their hunting rounds and donating the extra meat to the townsfolk. They've also added a few extra patrols to insure the safety of the humans who are now laboring around the clock to try and keep up. Sadly, no matter how hard they work, it's never quite enough.

If the posse gets back before harvest, Dean's sure they'll all be fine. If they don't, the community will be in peril when they return. But, the nagging fear that Dean can't seem to shake is the one where the posse never comes back at all. Imagining this life without his mother, his uncle, his brother, well, it’s sickening. The loss is nearly unimaginable. But, even worse, Dean knows that if the posse doesn’t return, the voids that Dean has been filling all summer will become permanent. What then?

The idea of simply going back to life with his pack and leaving the town to fend for itself is appalling. But, so is the idea of living here indefinitely. No matter how desperately he’s needed, making this permanent… being separated from Cas… being a visitor to his pack rather than living among them… the very idea is abhorrent.

Thinking of these things as he labors in the afternoon sun, Dean can feel himself succumbing to bleak depression he’s been fighting. He tries to think about something else, but it’s useless. The stink of hot tar around him isn’t helping either. He’d had help melting down the ingredients over an open fire, a thoughtful but crude combination of scavenged plastics and rubbers, but once a suitable patching compound had been ready for use, each man had filled a container and scampered off to some pre-determined location to hurry and complete repairs before the stinking tar-like substance could cool off and lose its workability.

Standing on the rooftop of a single family dwelling, sweaty and stinking, Dean sets aside his tool so he can pull off his shirt. Tying it around his waist, he takes a moment to look around, measuring the angle of the shadows to calculate how much daylight is left. Thinking of Cas, he lays a hand on his neck. The bite mark is healed now, but he can feel subtle scarring under his fingertips. From behind him, Dean hears a pleasant and cheerful voice - his brother’s wife. “Oh good,” she says to him, “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to guilt you into taking a break.”

“S’not a break,” he grouses, once more picking up his tool.

“Please,” she counters, “I brought you this. You’ve been out in the heat all day and I’d bet my last dollar that you haven’t had a thing to eat or drink.”

“What is that?” he asks, uncertain what she's offering as she hands him a tall glass of opaque liquid.

“It’s lemonade,” she answers with a smile. “You remember lemonade, dontcha?”

“Sounds great,” he says, even if a cold beer would’ve been far more to his liking. Trading his tool for the cup, he takes an ambitious swallow and grimaces as the sour, acidic flavor hits his tongue. “Isn’t there supposed to be sugar in that?” he goads. He's only half kidding. 

“We’re out. Can’t even make moonshine.”

“There’s lemon juice but not sugar? I thought we had a back stock of sugar under lock and key?”

“Well, we do. For emergencies. And neither lemonade or moonshine can be considered an emergency.”

“Depends who ya ask,” he sighs. She’s about to lift the glass from his hand but before she can take it, his thirst gets the better of him and he pulls it back to down the whole thing. “Ugh,” he grumbles as he swallows. “I think it’s time we sanctioned a supply run. We need some damned sugar.”

“There’s a cheese factory on the Southwest side that we could try,” she suggests hopefully, “I mean, if you’re willing to do a scavenging mission, that might be a good place to start.”

“Why the hell would we look for sugar in an old cheese factory?”

“Because sugar is a byproduct of cheese making,” she informs him cautiously. It’s almost as if she’s afraid of accidentally provoking his temper. Perhaps his angry tirades are becoming a bit too common. Just then, he hears the clanging of the bell. It’s a big one, ensconced in the balcony of a crumbling church a few blocks down the road. The sound of that bell is meant to bring everyone together at its base – generally for something urgent.

Hearing the toll of that bell is rare and in response Dean’s eyes immediately scan the horizon for signs of danger. At least he’s up on the roof of a two story house – it gives him a decent view of the area. He turns a full three hundred and sixty degrees as his eyes search the area but he sees no signs of fire or an approaching storm, things that would normally prompt someone to ring the warning bell.

“Any idea what that’s about?” he asks, abandoning his work.

“Sorry, no,” she says timidly, turning to carefully navigate her way back across the steep roof and to the open attic window she’d crawled through to get out here. Dean follows her through the opening rather than crossing back to the other side of the house where his ladder is perched. They hustle across the interior of the attic, balancing on the beams and being careful not put any weight down where the lathe might not support it.

Shimmying down the attic ladder, they wind up on the second floor. Pausing just long enough for Jess to grab the baby, the two race down the stairs and out the front door. Running up the street at top speed, they’re both breathing heavily by the time they arrive at the church. Joining the small group who’ve beat them here, they inquire about what’s going on.

“People,” is the answer they get. “People approaching… on horseback.”

“Horseback,” Dean whispers, his eyes meeting those of his sister-in-law.

“I haven’t seen a horse in years,” marvels Jessica, “Not since my mom was alive and we still lived at the farm.”

Dean knows the backstory well. Hers had been one of the last functioning farms back when Sam and Dean were kids. But, during a particularly difficult winter, a sickness had set in among their livestock. They’d lost all but a few hardy cats that year. It had been the beginning of the end. That year, Jessica had started staying with her aunt in town when her parents were too busy trying to save the farm to properly care for her. Not long after that, her father had crippled himself trying to use a makeshift plow he’d constructed. Jessica’s parents had joined her at her Aunt Mildred’s after that – leaving their family farm behind.

As is protocol when the bell rings, the men on watch have brought arms to this location. Dean steps up to receive a gun and ammunition and then steps over to the head guard who tells him where he'll be posted. Seeking to calm the ragged fears of the citizenry before blind panic can set in, Dean addresses the group that's forming. “We're gonna be fine," he says. "We know what to do. Just don’t lose your heads... there's no ammo to waste.”

As he's speaking, the school-age children are arriving. Each is holding the hand of the student in front of them, the long chain of students ushered along by the their teachers. They are quickly ushered down into the basement of the church and Sam and Jess's older kids are among them. High overhead, the bell is still ringing. Adults with weapons begin heading to their assigned locations. The community has been running practice drills for years and as Dean looks around, he can see that they've paid off. Falling in with a few others, he heads into the church and begins climbing stairs.

The first few flights of steps are wide and open, previously used by congregants to access a choir loft over the main sanctuary and even a few utility rooms. But after that, the men are single file. They climb rickety ladders up to the very top of the bell tower. Emerging one at a time into the crows nest, they all grimace. The bell is still being rung and it's loud. Jaw jarring.

There are three others up here with him, presumably one of them to face in each direction as they look down on the street below. Taking a knee by the railing, Dean checks his weapon. Those around him are doing the same. When he's ready, he stands and leans out over the rail to scan the streets below. He sees no indication that the riders have entered the city, but he can only see one direction. Straight North. Minutes tick by in relative silence as the men scan both the distant horizon and the streets below them for signs of movement. The unnatural silence stretches on so long that they become antsy. They fidget. They check their weapons again. They whisper among themselves. But, they follow protocol. They maintain their position on high ground and stay vigilant.

When he hears the first audible clip-clop of horse hooves on pavement, he listens for the direction of origin because he still can’t see anything. The echoing clacking from neighboring building distorts the direction and makes it difficult to pinpoint the actual origins of the sound.

Long before there’s a rider in sight, a whoop of joy rises up from the street below. The initial cheer is followed by a sustained clamor, their sound resoundingly happy. It's a solid indication that there's nothing to fear and no reason to remain at their posts. But, unsure of what's actually happening, he assigns one man to stay up in the bell tower as a precaution before heading back down with the others to investigate.

As he reaches the bottom of the stairs and pushes through the double doors, he’s greeted by an unexpected sight. His mother. His mother on horseback, waving at the people who’ve gathered here at the call of a warning bell and now openly celebrate her return. Dean pushes through the crowd to reach her and when she catches sight of him, she practically leaps into his arms.

Easing her down from her mount, Dean lingers in her exuberant hug and strokes her hair as he tells her how relieved he is to see that she’s returned.

“Contact,” she whispers to him breathily. “We’ve made contact and sustained no losses.”

On the heels of that sentiment, Dean finds he’s being wrenched away from her. Hands fist into his shirt and pull him down low. "Ya got more than one person to hug, ya idgit."

"Bobby," he whispers, allowing himself to pulled into the flannel covered arms of a trucker hat-wearing old codger who’s always been like a second father to him. Sinking into the embrace, he tells his uncle how happy he is to see him, and how bad he smells. Laughing as they pull apart, Dean asks, "Where's my brother?"

"Right over there," answers Bobby from his wheel chair. Following the man's pointed finger, Dean sees his brother bent to one knee on the sidewalk. He's hugging his kids. The sight brings a tear to Dean's eyes. He's never been so relieved or so happy in all his life. Not only are his loved ones all back safely, but they're back _with horses_.

Turning back to Bobby, Dean drops to one knee so they'll be on the same level. "What the hell happened out there?” he asks.

“We made contact,” he says, repeating Mary’s words. The smile on his face widens as he goes on to say, "We’re not alone. Hell, we’ve got allies out there!”

Bobby's eyes are bright and shining as he answers Dean’s rapid-fire questions. They're still talking when Sam joins them with Jess on his arm. Sam tells Dean that Mary’s going to address the crowd and directs their attention to the church steps. Standing at the top is Mary and she’s holding up her hands as she waits for the crowd to quiet down.

When she has everyone's attention, Dean’s mother begins to speak. “Thank you,” she begins. “Thank you for supporting our mission. Our primary objective was to find other survivors and it's my pleasure to tell you that we’ve been successful.” Her words are met with rambunctious cheers and as she continues speaking, more and more citizens are joining the crowd. “It was a little scary to come out from behind the wall and leave the others behind. But, I think we can all agree that it’s been worth it. We aren’t living in fear of the Wares anymore, but are living cooperatively with them. We aren’t just tending gardens anymore… we’re actually farming. And now, because you all were willing to take a chance on the unknown again, we’ve made contact with other survivors.”

At this point, she pauses for the audience to cheer and looks directly at Dean and Sam. They’re standing together with Bobby and Sam nods to her in acknowledgment when she goes on to say, “I'm not saying it's a walk in the park out there. The Wares out in the open are blood thirsty, fighting amongst themselves for food and territory. There are still marauders picking through the ruins and they’re every bit as violent as the wild wares. We found no settlements in any of the towns between here and Columbia, even Jefferson City. But, West of St. Louis, we finally came upon civilization. There’s a huge community in Warranton and they’re in regular contact with half a dozen other communities in the St. Louis area. There's even a trade route that runs between them.”

Once more, the group shout for joy. The implications of having multiple settlements joined by a trade route are every bit as exciting to him as they are for the people of Newtown. “For almost twenty years we’ve been wondering if there was life out there,” shouts Mary to the crowd, “and today I can tell you that, yes, there absolutely is!”

Over the next few hours, Dean lingers with the townspeople as Mary and Bobby answer their questions. He learns that the easternmost settlement in the St. Louis area is in contact with Mt. Vernon and that despite a sizeable ‘dead zone’ between them and Louisville, there is a huge population of people surviving there. What Mary seems to have brought, more than anything else, is hope. But, she’s also brought horses.

Given to her and her team along with provisions for the return journey, the horses are meant to be a loan against future trade. The settlements in St. Louis need grain – grain that it would seem Lawrence is poised to provide them. Each community has made the most of its resources as it sought to survive, but until the communities began to cooperatively share resources, none of them been able to prosper. Warranton for example, had been home to an oil company and its vast storage facility had yielded more petroleum than they could ever use. But, being a relatively small town to begin with, it didn’t offer much in the way of scavenging. Communities that rose up in urban areas had plenty to trade for the needed petrol and so on.

Dean is smiling ear to ear as he absorbs the news and joins with his fellow citizens in pondering how much better their world will be in the coming years. Celebration breaks out in the streets as the people bask in the good news of the day. Dean stays long enough to witness the start of a huge celebration. 'Emergency only' stores of food and alcohol are opened up. Dean eats well and has a few drinks with his family, but it doesn't take long for him to start saying his goodbyes. Eager to return to his mate, his pack, and his home, Dean initiates one last round of hugs and the promise that he'll return tomorrow for a family dinner at mom's place.

Putting the cantankerous celebration behind him and heading out of town, Dean whistles Led Zeppelin as he walks. He crosses the creek at his first opportunity and follows it North. He’s still a half-mile from home when the first of the wolves find him. They fall in to flank him when he doesn’t break his purposeful stride. But, when Cas lumbers into his line of sight, Dean can’t help himself. He breaks into a jog, eager to reunite with his lover.

His alpha wolf, apparently equally eager, pounces on Dean and takes him to the ground. He exuberantly licks Dean’s face and Dean revels in the affection, wrapping his arms around the animals neck to pull that hulking body down on top of him. Happier than he’s been in years, Dean can’t help but drop a hand to his zipper. Shoving his jeans unceremoniously down, he rolls inelegantly onto his stomach in the tall, lush grass that grows alongside the creek. Thrusting his bare ass into the cool night air, Dean presents himself to fucked, much like he had in the earliest days of their courtship… back when he used to sneak out so they could meet. 

As if it were old times, his mate growls lustily and presses a paw heavily between Dean’s shoulder blades as he mounts. He gives only a few quick licks to wet the way before sinking in, and he snaps at any wolves who get too close as he selfishly fucks Dean with reckless abandon. Like any two lovers who’ve been long separated, he and Cas are quick and dirty in their coupling, collapsing breathless into a tight embrace when it’s over too soon. Before their breathing has even returned to normal, the wolves in their company begin to grow restless.

Begrudgingly, the two of them get to their feet and finish walking home. Upon arriving, they waste no time getting to their mattress by the fireplace. Flopping down onto it, they promptly sink into a proper reunion. The wolves that surround them join in celebratory debauchery, instigating a pack-wide orgy that rivals even those of mating season. The sun has risen before Dean and Cas are finally satiated, and Dean dozes off for a few hours of well-deserved rest before leaving the cocoon of their love nest.

Once he’s gotten himself cleaned up, Dean heads back to town for his family dinner. It winds up being the last they have for quite some time. In the wake of Mary’s return the city turns its attention to harvest, motivated by more than the impending change of seasons. For the first time in nearly a generation, they’ll need to harvest more food than they can possibly use. Having watched their meager fuel supplies dwindle despite the strictest rationing imaginable, everyone is ecstatic at the prospect of trading their extra food for fuel.

The Winchesters, now a growing family thanks to Sam and Jess, are leaders in the community and they open up a vote that unanimously decides to open up the fuel stores as an investment in bringing in the maximum crop. They gas up trucks that have hardly moved in years to pull wagons. They start up tractors. They run balers. Every able bodied citizen joins in the effort, loading up flatbed trailers with an ambitious first run for the trade route.

There’s quite a lot of open ground to be covered between Lawrence and the nearest community. As they cover that open ground, their supply train will be vulnerable to ambush by marauders and wild animals. Because of that, it’s decided that the Wares will accompany the first shipment when it goes out. Dean, of course, is part of this errand. Heading out into the unknown makes him a bit nervous, but it's also exciting. It's also nice to undertake an endeavor that will allow he and Cas to stay together rather than separate again. He readily hands over the use and protection of his own home and lands to Benny and the other pack and then prepares to embark.

It’s the first week of November when they set out, a train of gas powered vehicles lumbering over rough terrain. Positioned atop each load is a well-armed man and a helper. Most of the wolves ride with Dean atop a rack of stacked bales, while a half dozen walk alongside the slow moving caravan in a protective formation. Every few hours, the wolves rotate so that those charged with protecting the caravan are always fresh.

The entire round trip goes off with only minimal issues. The few gangs of prairie bandits that they encounter do not attempt to engage them, obviously overwhelmed by the show of strength and the unusual sight of humans and wares working together.

The biggest problem they wind up having to deal with is an early snow storm that, luckily, passes in a single night. The wind may have been cold enough to produce snow but with the ground temperature is still too warm to preserve it. By noon the next day it's all melted and gone. So, the time lost and the discomfort of being exposed to such weather are the only ramifications. Aside from that, the only other issue of consequence is a flat tire. Without heavy machinery, changing it requires that they unload the trailer first and then re-load it after the tire’s been changed. The replacement tire, unmatched to the others, does slow progress a bit, but neither issue dampens the spirit of those tasked with the trip, and upon returning home, there is a celebration the likes of which their newly founded community has never seen.

The prosperity of Mary’s settlement draws an envious eye from the original settlement which is now dying out, and Dean spends most of the winter season fearing an invasion. Though a formal act of aggression from the others never comes to pass, there are a few provocations. Lacking leadership or even a coherent plan, their efforts at sabotage are easily thwarted. Dean has never hesitated to throw a bad guy to the wolves, quite literally. So, whenever outsiders threaten the peace they are dealt with swiftly.

As winter fades into spring, the last few members of the old clan come to the new settlement pleading to be taken in. They are welcomed without prejudice and after they migrate over, the city behind the wall is left completely empty. As such, Dean and Sam are able to return to their family home. Mary joins them for the endeavor, reminiscing about old times as they move from room to room in search of any personal effects they might want to salvage. The place has been empty for far too long and it’s not holding up well against the elements. Moisture, cold, and even just time are taking their toll on the place. The roof is leaking and sagging. There are a few things to salvage, but nothing that he’s motivated by sentimentality to take. 

Dean had thought that he’d said his goodbye’s to this place long ago, but as he lingers in his old room with the last box, he realizes that there is still a ghost haunting him. It lingers here – and it’s strong.

Pulled to the window by some unnamable compulsion, he looks down at the small yard below. The wall that boarders it is crumbling now and the tree that he’d once scaled to reach it has been cut down. Still, he can vividly remember sneaking out to meet Cas through this window. He can also remember the hours he’d wasted brooding about what he’d tell his family when he was eventually caught with his Ware. Back then, he never would’ve believed the secret could be kept for this long. But honestly, it’s not one that most people would be inclined to guess at.

He’d still prefer that other people not know the full extent of his relationship with Cas, but he’s come a long way from being the kind of man who would kill to keep his secret safe. Hell, these days even if people found out about him and were disgusted by what he’s been doing, none could argue that they hadn’t directly benefited from it. As such, Dean is considerably less worried. He’s not going to tell anyone, of that he’s certain. But if he’s found out, he wont deny it.

Maybe it’s just easier to feel this way because his father is dead. After all, John Winchester was the only person whose opinion Dean ever really gave a fuck about anyway. Well, maybe Sam and his mom, but on some level he is certain that they will both accept him no matter what. They might not approve of all of his choices, but they'll accept them. Of his late father, Dean is less certain. Even when he admits all of this to himself, he’s surprised to find that he doesn’t love the man any less.

Backing away from the window slowly, Dean leaves his room. He makes his way downstairs and out the front door, taking a deep breath as he leaves the memories behind. The front door barely stays on its hinges as he pulls it shut behind him. His mom and Sam are standing near the truck and staring wistfully up at the house. When he emerges, his brother steps up to take the box he carries and load it in the back. Preparing to climb up into the driver’s seat, Dean comes to stand n ext to his mom. “You okay?” he asks.

She shrugs in response, her attention still focused on the house. “The place is really falling apart,” she sighs. “I don’t know why I expected it to still look the way it did when last saw it.”

“I know,” he says, wrapping an arm protectively around her shoulders. Then, with a hopeful smile, he adds, “I feel that way every time I see Sam-n-Jess’s kids.”

Turning to look at him now, she gives Dean the biggest and warmest smile he’s seen in quite some time. “You think you might ever want to settle down and make a few of your own?”

“I doubt it,” he answers honestly. “I mean, if things were different, I might’ve liked to have a family… a big house with a white picket fence… a couple of rowdy kids… a pretty but sassy wife... the whole thing.” He tightens his arm around her as he continues. “But, things aren’t different.”

"I know," she agrees easily. "But for the first time in a long time, Dean, I feel like they're getting better."

"They are," he agrees. "You've founded a whole new town and it's doing well. You've gotten us in touch with other communities too, literally put us on the map."

“Those things wouldn’t have been possible without the Wares Dean,” she says softly, leaning into him.

“I know,” he agrees. “And if it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t have them on our side. I mean, if I had lived a regular life, we wouldn't have their help. And, I'd be tryin' to raise a houseful of kids just like Sammy. I'd be so busy tryin' to keep ‘em safe and fed that I wouldn't have any time to help you out. So, yeah, I guess it's kinda lucky that things worked out the way they did. And hey, I'm cool with the choices I've made. I'm happy with my life, mom, really.”

“Things have a way of working out the way they’re meant to,” she hums, finally turning to face him. “But do you think maybe now that things are settling down a bit…”

“Mom, I don’t know how I’m gonna feel down the road. But for now, I like things the way they are. I might never be inclined to live the kind of life that Sammy’s livin’ and I need to know that you can be okay with that.”

“I am,” she says, hugging him tightly. “So long as I know you’re happy, I'm happy.”

“That’s good, mom. ‘Cause I am.”

Pulling out of the hug, she peers up at him as though noticing something for the first time. “You are happy, aren’t you?”

“Well, nothings perfect," he shrugs. "I miss dad. I miss the life we had before – one with air conditioning and high speed internet. But, yeah, I’m as happy as I can be.”

When Sam joins them, they pulls him into their arms and the three of them become a semi-circle as they all stare up at the empty house. Decrepit and devoid of all life, it is nothing to them now – just a decaying structure that would barely provide suitable shelter. He doesn’t want to look at it for too long, fearful that the image will stay with him. He much prefers the way it looks in his memories.

“The last of your father was in that house,” sighs Mary, naming the ghost that haunts Dean here. “All I’ve got now is a few old pictures.”

“He’s in here,” says Sam firmly, pressing his palm to their mothers heart. Internally rolling his eyes at the cheesy sentiment, Dean knows deep down that his brother is right. A piece of their father lives in both him and Sammy too. And now, surviving only in their memories, John Winchester is a much better man. With his shortcomings overlooked and nearly forgotten in death, he's become the very best version of himself.

With nothing left to discuss, the three of them pull apart and climb into the cab. Dean takes a deep breath as he drives away and puts the place behind them for good. As they drive through the crumbling ruins of the old neighborhood, he thinks of the life his younger self had envisioned. All he’d wanted back then was a place of his own and life lived on his own terms. It's quite exhilarating to realize that he's got both. Sure, he's keeping a few dirty little secrets, but who isn’t? And, honestly, the life he’s helped build for both his human and canine communities is far better than anything he’d imagined back in his teen years. Life isn’t just good – it’s better than he’d ever imagined it could be.

Newtown and the ware controlled lands around it go through inevitable growing pains over the next few years. There are harsh setbacks to deal with and grim realities to face up to. But, largely thanks to the Winchesters and the Wares, there is growth and prosperity. Through all the ups and downs, Dean has never once regretted his unconventional choice of mate. Partner. Spouse. Whatever. But, in Dean’s forty-fourth year there's a dramatic change in his relationship.

The first signs of spring are appearing when it happens and Dean is eagerly anticipating the coming mating season. It's the first thing he thinks of when he wakes. He's engorged and heavy between his legs, undeniably horny. Still bleary-eyed from sleep, he wriggles down to get his mouth on Cas's cock. With his mate still sleeping, it's buried deep in the sheathe that protects it so Dean licks at the opening, gently coaxing it out. The hidden organ quickly begins to grow under his attention. Soon, it's swelling enough to start pushing its way out through the opening and into Dean's waiting mouth.

He sucks at it hungrily as it swells. Soon he's bobbing up and down and struggling to take it all as his mate stretches languidly on their bed. The minute he's fully awake, Cas is turning Dean over so he can fuck him. Dean can the bitches around them whining eagerly in hopes of receiving similar treatment. They all want what he's getting and since he's eager to kick their mating ritual into high gear, Dean encourages them by matching their keening sounds with his own.

Cas growls menacingly as he presses his snout to Dean's eager hole and Dean curses aloud when his dark beast begins to lick and nibble at his puckered rim. Rocking back on his mates tongue when it fills him, Dean is already begging and his alpha doesn't keep him waiting long. The moment he's wet inside and minimally stretched, Cas leaps forward over Dean's back and buries himself inside. 

The males of their pack are growling and snapping anxiously as they watch, tactful enough to watch their leader get off at least once before they begin indulging their own sexual appetites. Dean makes a show of their joining, arching his back and rocking into the thrusts. He can feel Cas's breath on the back of his neck and he snakes a hand up over his shoulder so he can firmly grasp his alpha by the scruff of his neck. Gripping tightly, he does his best to hold Cas to his back and keep him bodily close as they both prepare to come. Between his own legs, Dean can feel the weight of his cock swinging as he's bred. Moisture gathers at his tip and dribbles out each time his mate makes a particularly artful thrust. Nearing his completion, Dean grins into the mattress as he contemplates the many spectacular fucks he’ll be having in the coming days.

For his pack, mating season is a fun way of insuring that they manage to impregnate every last female. After all these years, Cas still seems determined to try and get a litter of pups into him despite his gender and so far as Dean is concerned, that’s good news for him. He’s screaming wantonly by the time his alpha pumps the first load into him and when they’re finished, he lays there watching the others breed around him. His Alpha is soon ready for round two, flicking his wicked tongue over Dean's wet hole to express his interest.

Receptive, Dean begins arranging himself into a promising position. It doesn’t take long for the house to start feeling confining when it's filled with so many bodies engaging in ferocious sex. So, when he and Cas have shot their second load, they head outside. Walking out into the fresh air, Dean doesn’t get far before he’s shoved to the ground and mounted again. With fresh new grass under his palms and knees, Dean is rolling his hips into the powerful haunches of his mate long before his dick actually starts getting hard again, but this time, Cas doesn’t get to finish.

In that unique way that his Wares do – one of the younger pups rises up on two legs and takes a flying leap at Cas. The wolf is thrown from Dean’s back and into a head-over-haunches tumble. Dean is stunned, both by the timing of the attack and the ferocity of it. Scrambling to his feet, he seeks out pants. Sadly, he came out here naked and has to dash back inside to find any. Running back outside as he steps into them, Dean rushes to his mate and winds up watching from the sidelines with the others as Cas and the pup square off. 

Known only to Dean as Digger, the young wolf has always been ambitious. But he’s got a habit of biting off more than he can chew and he's no match for Dean’s bad-ass Cas. Quickly bested, he skulks off to find a Bitch and fuck out his ample aggression. However, before Cas has even had a chance to recover, another contender steps up. This one, sadly, is far better equipped to be making a play for the top leadership position in the pack. Dean watches helplessly as the two circle one another and begin to fight, his heart growing heavier by the moment as he watches. His aging alpha is losing ground.

The first time Cas yelps in pain, it nearly rips Dean’s heart from his chest. When blood is drawn, he begins to pace back and forth and yell. The others all watch intently, none even moving as they wait to see what will happen next. Dean stops moving and holds his breath as Cas is tackled to the ground again, the thud of his body easily felt in the soles of Dean’s own feet. Cas scrambles and tries to regain the upper hand, but it’s not looking good. The contender, known to Dean internally as The Hulk, had been the biggest of his litter by far. He’d been the first to master the basic skills of fighting, the first to make a big kill on his own, and the first to take command of wolves more senior than him as he moved up in the ranks.

Dean had thought that this wolf might eventually challenge Cas for power, he’d just never imagined it would happen so soon. He’d also assumed that Cas would hold his ground better. But as he watches his alpha lose footing again, Dean remembers that Cas was actually _older_ than him. He’s never really thought of that before, but it's true. Cas had been a fully grown wolf, already this packs alpha male when Dean had first set eyes on him as a teenager. So, if Dean is forty-four, how old is Cas? He has no idea, but watching him quickly tire from this attack is a wakeup call. Cas's time has come. Even if it's not this wolf on this particular day, it's going to be someone and it's going to be soon.

Cas makes a damned decent showing, but as Dean waits for his mate on the sidelines, he wonders how much more Cas will take before finally giving up. It's becoming obvious that he wont win this fight. But, as more blood is drawn and injuries are inflicted, he begins to realize that his mate will not accept defeat. It simply isn’t in his nature and had he ever allowed himself to think about it, he already would've known that his mate was the kind to fight to the death rather than retire. The very instant that Dean admits it to himself, he draws his gun.

As he’s done a few times when he needed to separate two warring wares, Dean fires several consecutive shots into the air. It's a warning and they all know it. Even Cas. The great black wolf takes a single step back, as does his young challenger. In that single moment of silence, Cas locks eyes with him. The pain reflected there is palpable for Dean, and it carries with it an apology. His Alpha knows how this is going to end and he feels regret regarding Dean. But, even as Dean stands there coming to terms with things, Cas lunges again and the fight resumes.

Even when Cas is limping as he circles, bleeding profusely from both his shoulder and his neck, he remains defensive. His hackles are raised and his eyes are intently focused. His body is still quite powerful, he's just outmatched. Dean can bear it no longer. Firing off another round, he walks boldly between the two wolves and points his weapon at The Hulk. Turning his head to look his lover in the eye, Dean trusts the animal to understand him as he speaks. “Stop this,” he says firmly. “You’re done.”

Cas issues a growl at Dean in response. Not a lusty growl, but a genuine warning growl. “No,” Dean tells him firmly. “You stop now, or I kill him.” Tipping his head as though he's trying to understand why Dean would do this, the alpha stares questioningly at him. The challenging wolf is stone still. He knows what Dean’s gun can do and so does Cas. The entire pack is silent around him, waiting with baited breath.

“I get it,” Dean says gruffly, stepping closer to his mate. “It sucks takin’ a loss. Especially with an audience. But that’s what’s gonna happen next.” As though challenging Dean’s sincerity in the moment, the dark wolf steps around Dean. He puts his own body between Dean and The Hulk and then issues a low growl to signal his challenger that the fight is back on.

Following his gut, Dean flings himself down on his knees and turns the gun on himself. “If you go, I go,” he says firmly, unblinking as he stares up at his Alpha. Cas, glancing back at his challenger only once, returns his eyes to Dean. There's no hesitation on the part of his dark wolf. It lays down in submission with it's bright blue eyes intently locked on his. “That’s right,” Dean whispers to him, “stay with me.”

With his chin on the ground, the Ware looks up at Dean and waits for him to lower his weapon. When Dean has done so, Cas rises to his full height. Gazing intently into Dean's eyes he makes a silent promise to surrender, regardless of how humiliating he perceives the loss of his leadership to be.

For the rest of that day, Dean lays with Cas in the warm sun and watches as wolves fight bloody battles, one after another, each seeking to either win or hold a position of power in this prosperous pack. He and his ware don't touch or look at one another, but they're both alive and their together. By sundown, The Hulk is their new alpha. The Grey is dead and The Brown has been knocked down to a much lower position. Previously the third in command, he now commands only a small hunting party and is subordinate to a wolf half his age. The hierarchy is now unrecognizable from what it had been when Dean joined the pack.

He may not be a ware, but Dean fully understands all the implications of what's gone down today. He knows that Cas's position as the pack Alpha was his identity and that his mate has now been stripped of that. He knows that the loss of pride Cas is feeling can't be overstated. But, he feels strongly that retirement is better than death. One day, Cas will be glad that Dean cajoled him into this, Dean is sure of it. But for right now, his mate is violently unhappy with him and Dean knows it's going to be a while before he's forgiven. 

No longer the packs elite, they don’t get to eat first when the fighting is over or even lead the way when it's time to go inside. But, for some reason unbeknownst to Dean, The Hulk has no interest in taking over their fireplace bed. Instead, he chooses one of the packs most prominent bitches and fucks her into submission as everyone else gathers to watch jealously. Left to it, Dean and Cas curl up in their bed to join the pack in watching their Alpha fuck his way to exhaustion. One after another, wares press forward in hopes of being the next one mounted by their leader. Others of a lower status pair off on the sidelines, some falling into fuck piles and daisy chains as the scent of sex fills the air. 

It's impossible not to get horny in the midst of such indulgent hedonism and Dean is soon whining like a needy bitch, shoving his ass into Cas's face and begging to be fucked. He's looking over his shoulder and carefully watching his mates eyes. Cas has spent most of the day sulking and as he watches, Dean sees the exact moment when Cas's foul mood takes a backseat to his natural sexual desires. Not long after that, he sees a flash of wanton need. It's a glimpse of the real Cas, the sexually greedy one that had claimed Dean while he was still a boy and completely ruined him for any other lover.

Encouraging Cas to join the wild orgy as it escalates around them, Dean grasps his own cock and starts jerking off - something that has almost always antagonized his mate. "Don't let me get away with this shit," he encourages, still preening his ass in the air as he touches himself. "C'mon and put me in my place, Cas. Take what's yours. Make me scream."

In response, Cas pounces on him. Pushing him down into the mattress, Cas snaps at Dean's buttocks. It's a sharp punishment for starting without him and Dean immediately drops his stroking hand. Pressing his palms down into the mattress, he tries to balance on all fours but his angry ware seems intent on shoving him down. Crumpling under the weight of two heavy paws, Dean wriggles around to get his knees spread apart a bit. Flexing every muscle he has in order to stay upright under the weight of his dark wolf, Dean screams as he's penetrated with no preparation at all. Stinging and burning as he's stretched wide over a huge cock, Dean sucks in a desperate breath and pants heavily on the exhale. Tears sting in his eyes as he's split open over a heavy dick. He grabs hold of the edge of the mattress and hangs on tight as Cas lays into him. 

With sharp teeth pressed to the back of his neck and heavy paws framing him from above, Dean cowers under his ware and grits his teeth as he's fucked raw. The others all watch the anger bang between them, many of them also bent double under their partners and impaled on a throbbing cock. He can't help screaming and crying out as Cas nears his climax and doubles his efforts.

Dean has taken part in some pretty aggressive sex during his time as Cas's bitch, but this is the first time he can remember when Cas's ire is directly focused on him while they fuck. Usually, if Cas is extra rough with him, it's because he is needy or greedy... not angry. All Dean can do is hang on as he absorbs it. Thankfully, Cas eventually climaxes and pumps a load into him. "That's right," Dean sighs as he flops down to rest, "I'm still your bitch, Cas. I'll always be your bitch."

He doesn't get much of a reprieve. A short breather and then Cas his shoving him forward again. Dean scrambles for something to hang on to as he's speared, thankful that at least his hole is wet now that Cas has filled him with seed. As he's fucked again, the display of debauchery around them fuels Deans lust and by the time Cas comes again, Dean is into it. He's ready for round three when it's initiated and comes with a shout.

At this point, Dean knows that Cas is still bitter and angry because despite having paused for a lengthy rest, his ware doesn't clean him up. Instead, he leaves his human sticky and uncomfortable as he reclines to watch their pack-mates breed. When he tries to clean himself up, Cas snips at him. Understanding that Cas is cross with him, Dean forgoes all efforts clean himself. The itch of sweat and sticky, drying cum is wretched but Dean tolerates it and keeps his naked body locked in a presentation pose. It's not just uncomfortable, it's humiliating. But, it's an apology of sorts. 

Eventually, Cas decides he's ready for another go. Dean takes it like a champ and when his mate has blown again, Dean abandons his face-down-ass-up position in favor of offering fellatio. His lover stretches languidly on their blanket covered mattress and allows Dean to be his cock warmer as he watches the carnal escapades of the others. 

When Deans practiced mouth finally gets Cas hard again, the great wolf leaps up to flip him over and use him yet again. After that, Cas finally does something to show Dean that he's forgiven. 

Pacing a slow circle around his human, the former pack Alpha stops near Dean's head and lifts a leg to pee on him. When it happens, Dean does as he's always done. He welcomes the claiming act by turning his face up into the stream, even opening his mouth to take a taste of his mate. As has become customary, a few others come forward to do the same. But for the first time ever, Cas snaps at them ferociously when they try to piss on Dean. Cas growls in warning and it keeps the others several paces away. Dean stays perfectly still, dripping, but he can’t keep from feeling giddy as the implication of Cas’s actions sinks in... Dean no longer belongs to the pack. He belongs only to Cas now.

Over the summer Cas seems to make his peace with retirement. Though they don’t enjoy elite status within the pack anymore, there are definitely perks to being a low ranking member. With rotations on guard duty as his only responsibility now, Cas is free to spend a lot more time with Dean. They go swimming, play with the pups, explore new territory, even hunt together. And these days when they make a kill, they have time for Dean to cook the meat over an open fire before they return to the others. In all his life, Dean had never imagined that things could be so good.

Winter remains his least favorite season, though lounging in front of the fire with his mate is certainly a pleasant way to pass the time. When they get bored and restless, he and Cas head into empty parts of the city to scavenge. They search out treats like Cheetos and beef jerky and take the time to enjoy them. Let The Hulk worry about making sure the entire pack is cared for. Dean and Cas are now free now to live for themselves.

On a clear day they venture up to the top of a long-deserted skyscraper downtown, just so Dean can show off the view... and maybe get laid at the top of the known world. He also spends a few weeks leading his dark wolf on a tour of area bridges once he sees how much the creature loves crossing them. Always pausing several times to scent the wind and look out over the water, Cas seems to enjoy these crossings as much as Dean likes moving down under each structure when it meets the shoreline. Under the premise of exploring the shadowy areas under each bridge, he gets to claim a quick and dirty fuck down there too. 

Though Cas is retired and their lives are more leisurely now, Dean still has obligations in town. As he always has, Dean travels to Newtown whenever he's needed, sometimes having to stay for days or weeks at a time. Ventures like this used to mean separating from Cas for the duration. Now, however, his mate is free to join him.

The people of Newtown have been getting used to the wares for years now, but having one walk among them still takes some getting used to. Thankfully, most are quite cordial when they cross paths with Dean and Cas. It's probably a sign that the alliance is strong... that people are happy with it. The willingness of the townspeople to accept his ware further ingratiates them to Dean and restores his faith in humanity a bit.

Because the hulking wolf is at his side during work and social gatherings alike, no one even seems to question the two of them retiring together at night. The first time they bunk in the extra room at his mothers house, rather than at Sam and Jess's place, Mary pops in on them to bring an extra blanket. Having given only a cursory knock before entering, she appears momentarily surprised to see them sharing the bed. Most likely, she'd been expecting to see the ware curled up on the rug at Dean's feet. But as she takes in the sight of her son and his big black wolf curled up in the bed, she smiles warmly. The glow on her face is reminiscent of a mom who’s watching her son cuddle his pet dog.

With the blanket clutched in her arms, she says, “When you were growing up, I used to tuck you in at night and tell you that angels were watching over you.”

“I remember,” he says with a genuine smile.

“I’m not sure I believe in them anymore,” she continues, “if I ever really did.”

He nods understanding. Cas is curled against his body and ready to sleep, but his eyes blink up at Mary as though he’s listening to her. “If there really are guardian angels,” Dean sighs, “then they’ve got some explaining to do.”

“Yeah,” she chuckles, “someone’s clearly been asleep at the wheel.” She steps a bit closer then, reaching out to Cas. He tilts his head into her open palm, accepting the affection she offers and seemingly glad to reciprocate it. “Well,” she adds, still stroking Cas’s fur softly, “I’m glad that you’ve found someone to watch over you.”

“He’s no angel,” says Dean flippantly, privately enjoying the dirty allusion he’s making. To insure that his mother processes his words in a benign way, he adds, “Doesn’t smell like one, anyway.”

Sharing a soft chuckle with him, she deposits the blanket on the bed at his feet and turns to go. "Good night," she says as she leaves, "and sleep well. Both of you."

Dean loves how comfortable this new life is… the one where he and Cas can navigate life together regardless of whether living amongst humans or wares. Honestly, Dean’s got zero issues with keeping his sexual relationship a secret indefinitely, especially if the ruse yields this kind of inclusion and acceptance for them in the human world. So, it's with the keeping of that secret in mind that Dean slips from his bed and tip toes over to lock the door.

When he returns to Cas, his mate has already noticed the change in his mood. He tips his head in curiosity as Dean crawls back in with him backwards – his feet now resting where his head had been only a moment ago. With a quick wink and a signal to keep quiet, Dean nuzzles down into the thick fur between Cas’s hind legs. Nudging his mates balls gently and insistently with both hands, Dean flicks his tongue at the spot where his wolfs heavy cock will soon emerge if he teases it long enough.

Quick to understand that Dean wants to sixty-nine, Cas is soon bending his neck towards Dean’s backside. To make it easier for his mate, Dean pulls his knees up under him and reaches back to clumsily tug down his thin cotton sleep pants. Warm breaths pant on his bared rump and goosebumps break over his bed-warm flesh as he arches his back into the first sensual lick.

Releasing a pent up breath as that wickedly talented tongue begins to massage him, Dean quivers excitedly and returns focus to the shiny tip of Cas’s cock where it’s beginning to protrude from its sheath. Sealing his lips around it, Dean begins sucking enthusiastically. Circling his tongue around its girth while he still can, he rocks back on his knees to encourage his mate to skip the gentle tease and go directly to an enviably sinful tongue fucking. His arousal grows as he feels his mates muzzle press in deeper and he relishes the tickle of whiskers on his cheeks as he’s hungrily eaten out. When the cock he's sucking has swollen to a size he can no longer handle, Dean scuttles into position and sits back on it.

Cas's tail thumps the bed a few times in appreciation, but the two remain quiet as they enjoy a slow and comfortable screw. Toe-curling pleasure rolls over Dean as he and Cas reach their climax and he buries his face in thick fur as he tries to keep silent when his moment comes.

In the aftermath, they’re both breathing heavily and as Dean curls into his Alpha he is once again struck by how good their life is these days. He lays in silent contemplation, thinking about how things had been in the early days... back when the two of them had begun sharing the encounters that would one day cement a wordless bond between them.

The path they’d chosen to follow had been strange and dangerous for both of them. Each has taken countless risks and made many sacrifices for the other – not the least of which was a ‘normal’ life and all that goes with it. Still, he knows with certainty that neither of them would’ve had it any other way.

There's lots of work to be done on these visits to the human world, but they try to carve out time with the Winchester family. For Dean, the highlight is always kicking back to watch Sam's children play with Cas. They bond to him quickly and despite signs of his age that are obvious to Dean, his wolf clearly enjoys participating in the kids' rough and tumble games. 

It's incredibly rewarding to see his human family prospering. Not just surviving, but prospering. And he loves that he and Cas get to be part of that. Regardless, he’s always glad to get back to the pack when his obligations in town have been fulfilled. The city is a nice place to visit, but he’s got no interest in actually living there. The sounds and scents of nature… the wide open spaces… it’s all far more preferable to him than city living will ever be. 

Both he and Cas still have responsibilities, but as they age, those seem perpetually lessened. Now they do everything together, each standing quietly at the others side as they attend to their various concerns. There is still a seasonal rhythm as the years go by and it begins anew with mating season every spring. Then, there’s the whelping and the easy living of summer while the pack raises its new pups. In fall, as the new generation of Wares are learning to hunt, Dean and Cas leave the pack behind and head into town to help with the harvest. When it's completed, they'll return to the pack and put together a team of Wares to help with the cross-country convoy that moves along the trade route every year. It's a flurry of activity since the winter is always bearing down on them and they need to get back home before the worst of the storms set in.

But, once they're back, he and Cas like to linger in town and celebrate the holidays with Dean’s extended family before returning to the pack. Then, they ride out the harsh Kansas winter in their den - the home that Dean had chosen for them long ago. He and Cas make good use of the mattress in front of their fireplace. They rest and cuddle and, as it turns out, good sex is an excellent way to pass the time. Winters, Dean thinks, are far more enjoyable when there’s no shoveling involved.

As he and his mate grow older together, Dean watches the world around them slowly change for the better. Just as Sammy had once predicted, the alliance between Wares and humans winds up being a positive force in the lives of both species. They are flourishing together now, rather than slowly dying off in opposition to one another. 

In all likelihood, the world will eventually modernize again. But, perhaps this time the influence of the Wares will temper the tendency of humans to try and rule over other creatures. Maybe, just maybe, this new generation will have learned to work in cooperation with nature rather than exploiting it.


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist LOL

Dean leans into the mirror, squinting to get a closer look. "Man-oh-man," he sighs, glancing over at Cas. "When the hell did salt 'n pepper become full-on grey?" The wolf thumps his tale just once, giving Dean a comical look. Loosely translated, it probably means something along the lines of, "Who the fuck cares?" 

Looking around his brothers bathroom, Dean spies a bottle of cologne and puts some on. Cas snuffles, a sneeze punctuating the sound harshly. "You don't like it?" he asks. "I think it smells pretty good." Looking back at the mirror, Deans gaze rolls over his freshly shaven face and pressed shirt. "Hell, I look pretty good. Not bad for fifty, huh?"

Cas gets to his feet when it becomes obvious that Dean is preparing to exit the bathroom. The ware follows him out and Dean speaks nonchalantly over his shoulder saying, "You're lookin' pretty good too, buddy. I mean, your muzzle's more grey than mine. But I think you wear it well." Chuckling to himself as they head for the kitchen, Dean looks around at the festive holiday decorations. There's an artfully decorated Christmas tree in one corner with elegantly wrapped gifts piled beneath it. The coffee table is laden with treys of cookies and candy. Candles flicker softly and from around the corner, Mary and Jessica can be heard singing Christmas carols with Emma, Sam's only daughter. 

Turning the corner to join them, Dean sees that as they sing, they're piping frosting onto another batch of cookies. "Aw c'mon," he grouses, "who's gonna eat all those?"

"They're for the wares!" exclaims Emma. 

"We thought we'd pack up a big box for you to take back to the pack," says Jess warmly, smiling over at Cas. Dean watches Cas give a cordial nod of thanks. 

"Thanks you guys," he says to the cookie makers, thrilled that his family are being so considerate of his pack. Then, suddenly catching a whiff of smoky meat, he looks over at the hearth. There's a huge roast skewered on a spit over the fire and Sammy's boys are taking turns stepping up to crank it by hand. Juices dribble from it when it's turned, sizzling as they fall into the flames. "That smells amazing," he sighs, "how long til we eat?"

"Not long," chirps Jess. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure, Jess," he answers, following her over to the stove. He nods agreement when she asks him to mash the potatoes, trying to force himself to listen as she gives him the specifics of how much cream and butter to add to the mix. Cas curls up next to the boys and stretches languidly as they take a knee and start petting him. Dean lets the women boss him around as the meal is prepared, Bobby rolling past him a few times as he does the same. The kitchen, though sizeable, quickly starts to feel overcrowded as everyone converges to help get Christmas Eve dinner on the table. 

Sitting down together, everyone begins filling their plates. Dean dishes up one for Cas. A chair has been removed to make room for Dean's Ware and, conveniently, Cas is big enough that when he sits he's exactly the same height as the seated humans around him. Bending his neck, Cas takes care to eat politely and Dean does the same. Each time he eats with a fork like this, he's surprised at how out of practice he is with it... how strange it feels in his hands. He's come to think of it as a novelty, much like these kinds of holiday meals are. Cas has always seemed happy to be included and does his level best to fit in. He's pretty good at it.

After the meal, everyone lingers at the table telling stories and talking of their hopes and plans for the coming year. Cas, having stayed at the table for the duration, now backs away and lays down to digest his food. As if this is a signal that the meal is over, everyone rises from their seats and begins to clear the mess.

Uninterested in helping with dishes, Dean joins his mate on the floor and takes on the job of reading The Night Before Christmas to his niece and nephews. Cas's tail thumps happily as Dean reads, seemingly enjoying Dean's voice as much as the kids are enjoying the story. They beg him to read it again, and he indulges them. 

By the time he's finished a third read-through, the rest of the adults have joined them. Sam and Jess both help Mary ease down onto the couch and then settle in next to her. "Okay," Mary says, "you kids all know the drill... you can pick just one present to open tonight. You'll have to wait for morning to do the rest."

A chorus of "Thanks Grandma!" breaks out as the kids rush over and begin digging through the gifts. Each eventually settles on one to open and returns, clustering around their grandmother. She nods to them, each in turn, and they open their packages enthusiastically. Cas is falling asleep on the floor by the time the kids start to get tired and Dean is feeling drowsy too. 

With hugs and a final 'Merry Christmas', he bids them all goodnight and heads for bed with Cas at his side. Despite the lingering heaviness that comes from having indulged in a holiday meal, Dean locks the door to their room. As if knowing what that clicking sound means, Cas looks over at Dean as if seeking to confirm his intentions.

"Oh no," he whispers, waggling eyebrows at his alpha. "Don't go thinkin' you get a night off just 'cause it's Christmas."

Looking over at the bed and then back at Dean, Cas asks a question with the tilt of his head. 'You want it up there? Or on down here on the floor?'

Regarding the floor, Dean chuckles. "On these old-man knees? Are you kiddin'?"

Cas wuffles and hops up on the bed, turning a circle before he lays down. Dean undresses slowly, taking care to fold his nice clothes rather than let them pile on the floor. Turning the gas lamp down to low, Dean crawls into the bed with his mate and gives him a reminder to keep quiet as he nuzzles down into the thick fur between Cas’s hind legs. Nudging his mates balls gently and insistently with both hands, Dean flicks his tongue at the spot where his wolfs heavy cock will soon emerge if he teases it long enough.

Soon, the dark wolf is bending his neck towards Dean’s backside. To make things easier, Dean pulls his knees up under him and pushes his rump up into the air. Warm breaths ghost over his naked butt cheeks and goosebumps spread across his backside. Releasing a pent up breath as he feels a wide tongue roll up his ball sack, Dean quivers excitedly. He returns his focus to shiny tip of Cas’s cock where it’s beginning to protrude from its soft furry sheath. Sealing his lips around it, Dean begins sucking enthusiastically. Circling his tongue around its girth while he still can, he rocks back on his knees to encourage his mate to skip the teasing rim job and go straight to the inevitable tongue fucking.

Dean's arousal grows as he feels his mates muzzle press in deeper, a long and gifted tongue curling inside him. His puckered entrance twitches involuntarily when Cas pauses to nibble at the sensitive skin around his hole. He relishes the tickle of whiskers on his cheeks as he’s hungrily eaten out and backs off of the cock he’s sucking when it swells large enough to pose a challenge.

Cas’s tail thumps the bed covers twice in quick succession – a sign that he’s quite pleased with how things are progressing. Suddenly struck by an idea, Dean pulls completely off of Cas’s cock. Taking a deep breath, he scuttles down the bed a bit and brings his face to the place where his wolf’s tail meets his body. Pressing his face into the soft downy fur there, Dean gives a few exploratory licks to his Alpha’s hole.

As though he’s stunned, Cas’s paws scramble for purchase on the bed and when he blinks curious eyes at Dean, it's nearly impossible not to giggle aloud. Dipping his head with a questioning expression to indicate his uncertainty, he waits to see if his Ware will want him to try it again. There’s a moment of indecision and then Cas gives him a thoughtful nod of approval. Dean is less passive this time, licking over the twitching pucker with what he thinks is the perfect amount of pressure.

It isn’t easy keeping quiet as Cas sinks into this new form of pleasure, but they manage it. Cas pants softly as he tucks his paws under his body and works to keep his tail out of the way. Dean’s mate has completely given up on reciprocation at this point and even though he feels a bit neglected, it’s a delight to see Cas so enthralled with this new pleasure.

Apparently borrowing a move from Dean, Cas lets his head rest on the mattress as he’s pleasured from behind but hoists his ass up into the air with his hind legs. Dean dives in deeper now, pushing his tongue past the tight rim of his lover and wondering why he’s never thought of doing this before. As if thinking the same thing, Cas pushes back onto Dean’s face greedily.

When he comes up for air, Dean sees that Cas is looking back over his shoulder at Dean. He’s risen up on all fours and there’s a familiar hunger in those eyes. Bright in the dark, Cas’s cerulean eyes beckon Dean to continue, but when he bends down to resume, Cas shakes out his fur. Dean tentatively pulls away thinking that his lover has had enough. To his surprise, Cas flicks his tail back and forth and raises his rump a few inches higher.

“Oh you gotta be kiddin’,” he whispers softly, unable to keep a smirk off his face. But when Dean rises up to his knees, Cas backs up into him. What’s being offered is obvious. Dean licks his lips as he considers and his eager cock begins to throb excitedly. Dropping down low, Dean returns his mouth to Cas’s rim but this time when he starts licking, it’s with intent. He wants to be sure his mate is good and wet. When he’s satisfied with his work, Dean spits heavily into his hand and spreads it over his shaft. It's thick and heavy in his hand as he lines it up with Cas's pink bud. He’s overwhelmed with lust as he begins to sink in, grabbing hold of his ware by the haunches and gripping tightly. Pushing forward without hesitation, he buries himself in the softness and warmth that lies behind his mate's tight rim. 

Cas locks his body and holds completely still as Dean sinks in and bottoms out. His alpha had never been especially gentle with him, not even in the early days when he was young and small, so Dean knows those things aren’t expected of him either. All he can think is that it’s a damned shame that this is happening at one of the few times he actually has to keep his voice down. The constriction on his shaft borders on painful and reverberations radiate all the way down to his toes. 

Cas is velvety smooth inside and the moment he's started to pull back, Dean is ready to push in again. The hands that had been clenched in Cas’s fur loosen as his thrusts fall into a rhythm and he softly strokes the wolfs fur as he moves in and out. Tight as his lover is, Dean only gets in a few solid pumps before he blows his load. Shuddering as he unloads inside his mate, Dean rolls his hips indulgently as waves of euphoria roll through him.

In the aftermath, they’re both breathing heavily and Dean grimaces as he imagines some of the sounds that might’ve slipped out as he'd fucked Cas for the very first time. Thankfully, all the adults are likely focused on the kids as they try to get them wrangled into bed.

Cas turns to look at Dean over his shoulder and his expression is comical. If Cas could speak, he’d likely be saying, “Really? That’s all you’ve got?”

Spent now that he’s shot his load, Dean flops down next to his mate in the bed. With his lips at Cas’s ear, he softly whispers, “I’ll be better next time.” Then with a satisfied smile on his face, Dean turns his back to the ware. Arching his back, Dean wriggles his ass around, seeking to get his mates erect shaft centered between his cheeks. In response, Cas repositions himself against Dean and maneuvers his swollen cock into his crack. Lifting one leg to give access, Dean lays there trying to control his breathing as he’s breached. He stays relatively still as Cas begins humping, glad that the bedsprings don’t seem to be squeaking as his canine lover really lays into him. 

It always feels good to fuck, but his poor pecker is exhausted. It flops around as he's bred and Dean grabs hold of it when his lover finally comes, cupping it and squeezing his balls as he's filled from behind. Back in the old days it had been usual for once to be enough between them. These days, however, it's generally sufficient. Satisfied, they lay with their limbs tangled until long after Cas has grown small and slipped out.

Dean has always loved the feel of panted breaths on the back of his neck and positioned as they are, he’s able to revel in the feel of his mate exhaling softly on his skin as the creatures breaths grow shallow and even. 

"G'nite Cas," he whispers. "Merry Christmas."

The response he gets is predictable. A soft nickering in the back of the wolfs throat that signals contentment and a single happy thump of his tail. Drifting off to sleep together is bliss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for subscribing and reading the stuff I post. This is, by far, my favorite hobby and it just wouldn't be any fun without you!!


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